Marigolds
by bluemuriel
Summary: Pelant returns to visit pain and grief on Brennan's family. This AU story (after ep 8x12) is told from Angela's point of view. Content warnings apply.
1. Crash

**Author's Note: **I started working on this after the Season 8 premier in September. What stood out for me in that episode was the B/B hotness, and Pelant's threat: he gave Brennan a marigold that stood for "pain and grief." So, I wanted to explore how that story might play out. (I don't address the smut here, sorry. Go elsewhere for that. :)

Now that Pelant might be coming back on the show, I wanted to get my version out first! As you'll see, this tale is set a little farther in the future.

**Beta work: **Thanks to three wonderful gals for reading and offering advice: jsq, threesquares, and tempertemper.

**Posting schedule**: This story has 12 chapters (10 are written and I'm working on the last two). I hope to post twice a week, perhaps Saturday and Tuesday.

**Content warnings**: Car accident, child abduction, gun play. Those of you who know my writing, I hope you trust me to handle this well, and I've sought advice from betas on how to do that. Still, this story means serious fear and angst for our favorite characters. If you're in the mood for that, proceed and enjoy.

**Marigolds**

**Part 1: Crash**

"Angela, she's only two years old. She won't understand the significance of celebrating a birthday among friends and peers."

We'd just arrived at the diner, and I slid into a chair while plunking my purse on the table. "So it's for the adults. Just use it as an excuse to have a party, Brennan. Christine and Michael can eat cake with their fingers, play with the boxes instead of the presents, and that's all they need to be happy."

Brennan looked almost sentimental at that image, before digging into the salads we'd ordered for lunch.

I took a sip of iced tea. "So where was Booth going, that he couldn't join us?"

"He has to go interview a suspect for a fraud case he's working. His car's in the shop, so I told him to take mine."

"Wasn't yours in the shop just last week?"

"Yes." She sighed. "Booth was lamenting the timing, that they both decided to crap out at the same time."

I smiled. "His words, not yours."

"So, where do you think we should have this event?"

"The birthday party? Well, there's always your house, or ours. Maybe a park so the kids can play. The weather should be…"

Brennan's phone rang and she shot me an apologetic look, even as the name on the screen made her mouth turn up. "Hi, Booth."

I saw her face change: confusion, fear.

I sat close enough that I could hear it wasn't Booth.

Brennan put her free hand over her ear to block the diner's background noise. I heard a man give his name and then I caught scattered words: "EMT… car accident… husband insisted I call."

"_What_?" Her voice was tight with shock but she didn't correct the assumption she was married. "Is he—can I talk to him?" My stomach knotted at her tone.

All I could make out was, "Keep it brief… before we get in the ambulance." The color drained from Brennan's face and she went silent, listening.

I knew, somehow, that Booth had come on the line.

"I understand," she told him. "I love you." She glanced at me, then, with restrained panic. "Yes?" It seemed the first person had come back on. "How serious—? Which hospital?"

She was already standing up and grabbing her jacket.

I stood too, my legs quivery with dread.

Brennan closed her phone and spoke quickly. "Booth was in a car accident. He thinks Pelant sabotaged it somehow. That was an EMT who called from the scene. I'm meeting them at the hospital."

"Sweetie, wait! How could Pelant… How bad was Booth—"

"They couldn't say. Serious but not critical. Booth sounded…" She shook her head, eyes glistening. "Dazed and in pain, but very clear. That I shouldn't—that any of us—should take a taxi, not our own car."

"He thinks Pelant might…"

Her mouth was a grim line. "Might go after anyone close to me."

I retrieved my own bag so I could pay the bill, and call Hodgins to spread the warning.

We got into a cab a few minutes later, and when Brennan reached for my hand, I held onto it, hard.

-.-.-.

They were both blaming themselves.

Booth hadn't even come home from the hospital yet, but he and Brennan were full of anger and guilt.

I mean, of course they were—if Pelant the cyber-genius-murderer was back, spreading _pain and grief_, as Brennan said he'd promised when he left the country.

It was two days after the accident. Hodgins and I were leaving the hospital with Christine, who we'd promised to drop off at the nanny's apartment. My dad was watching Michael, so we could help Bren with things like grocery shopping, before Booth was released later today.

I had Christine balanced on my hip as we went down the stairs and out to the parking lot. Her little hands fidgeted with my necklace. When Bren had taken her to visit Booth, her face had blossomed into a big smile at seeing her dad. But then she'd seen the bruises and butterfly bandage on his temple, and started to cry. He'd cradled her against his chest, both of them torn between gladness and tears.

I knew Brennan felt guilty about loaning him her car. The FBI techs were still dismantling it, along with Hodgins' and my car, Cam's, Max's, and anyone else we deemed at risk. They'd found a tiny device on the brake line, nearly invisible in the crash debris. A saboteur could have controlled it remotely, triggering the release of a powerful corrosive agent that ate through the line, so the brakes failed.

"It should have been me." I heard Bren speak in a low voice. I hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but I'd dropped my jacket just as I left them alone yesterday, so I picked it up and lingered in the doorway.

"I'm glad it wasn't you, Bones."

"No, Booth…" Her voice cracked, and I imagined she was leaning over the bed, cupping his face, or kissing him gently. He'd suffered lacerations, bruises, and a fractured tibia. Even so, it could have been worse.

We'd all gathered in his room earlier, and he'd told the story in his no-frills way. "I was on the highway about to exit, and the brakes failed. I hit the pedal harder, pumped the brakes—nothing. So I put on my hazard lights and pulled the emergency brake, and that seemed to slow me a little. Smelled like burning rubber, anyway. But that section of highway was ending, so pretty soon I had no choice. There wasn't enough time to do anything. Lucky for me I had to go up a hill before turning off, and that slowed me too. But I was coming up to an intersection. I would've crashed right into dozens of people. So I drove off the road and into a big tree. All I wanted was to stop at that point and, well… that did the trick."

Brennan sat by his bed, her hand on his arm. She was shaking her head as if to say, _Don't be a hero_.

Cam seemed to agree with that sentiment. "Damn it, Seeley, couldn't you have found a runaway truck ramp or something?"

"Hey, at least I hit on the passenger side, not my own. That little car of yours folded right up," he told Brennan, "like an accordion." She looked like she'd been punched in the stomach, and he clearly regretted what he'd said. "Hey, it's okay, Bones. I'm teasing, all right?" He reached out to caress her hair.

She hid her face for a minute, saying in a muffled voice, "I'd hit you if you weren't already injured."

Booth had a nice black eye, along with some cuts to his face. His leg wouldn't need surgery, but he'd taken a serious impact to the chest. Both Brennan and Cam had insisted on seeing the x-ray and CT scan, to rule out complications like internal bleeding or pressure from trapped air. Bren told me he had abrasions at mid-sternum and over the anterior iliac spine, from the seatbelt.

"But," Booth was saying, "that car has a solid framework, front and side airbags—it could've been worse."

Hodgins grimaced. "Man. It was bad enough."

"I'll say it again," Max put in. "Pelant needs killing."

Brennan gave him an enigmatic, steely look, and Booth said, "I wish I'd done it before."

Sweets didn't even have any psychological comments. He noticed me glancing expectantly at him and said, "Hey, I'm not here in a professional setting. I completely agree with Max."

I didn't need Sweets to tell me: Brennan and Booth felt guilty for not being more alert to Pelant's actions and whereabouts.

No one questioned that Pelant was behind the accident. True, it was a departure from his usual pattern. Tampering with the car presented more variables; it wasn't as neat as he seemed to prefer. But I'd gotten too familiar with Pelant's style, during those months that Brennan was on the run, and I _knew _he was behind this.

Cam was giving Booth a shrewd look. "I'm guessing this wasn't a total surprise. Has he slipped back into the country, or what?"

"He might have. We found hints he's up to something." Booth nodded at me. "I had Angela investigate a few of them, to help out the FBI's cyber crime experts."

"Why didn't I know about this?" Cam demanded.

I shrugged apologetically. "We didn't find anything definitive. If I had to describe it, I'd call them… echoes. Traces that Pelant had been at different sites or databases, hints that he had done _some_thing, but he erased it."

"You weren't sure if he was toying with us," Hodgins said, "or plotting actual crimes."

"Well." Brennan's hand still rested on Booth's arm, but her voice was hard. "We have our answer."

-.-.-.

After Hodgins and the FBI had made sure our car was safe, I went to drop Christine at the babysitter's. Teresa was a serious, dark-haired girl studying for a degree in biochemistry. She'd endeared herself to Brennan on her trial run as a nanny, when Bren came home to find Christine playing with chemistry flashcards.

I handed the toddler over, along with her bag of books, toys and snacks. Teresa wanted to know if Booth was all right.

"Brennan told you about the accident?" I summarized how he was doing. "They suspect foul play, but the FBI is all over it. Booth made a few calls, and some uniformed police officers are going to keep an eye on your place from the street. He says that an in-person threat is really unlikely, though. It's just a precaution."

-.-.-.

Brennan and I got to her house at about the same time. We put away the groceries I'd bought, started a load of laundry, and talked about the update Cam had provided a couple hours ago.

"Cam promised Booth she'd do everything she could," Brennan said. "That she'd work with the head investigator, make sure things are moving quickly, and report back to us. It's the only thing keeping Booth in that hospital bed. Otherwise he'd be chasing after Pelant, rupturing his stitches without a thought for himself—to make sure the rest of us are safe."

We were in the kitchen, and Bren had started to unload the dishwasher. I moved in to help with the silverware.

"They found something else at the mechanic'swhere Booth and I take our vehicles," she continued. "One of the employees, who hadn't even worked there very long, quit unexpectedly. This was just before Booth's accident. And according to the owner, he was one of the employees who worked on my car. The FBI is tracking his credit cards and found that he made a number of recent purchases, much larger than he usually makes, including airfare out of D.C."

"So," I said, "Pelant paid him to sabotage the car and then get out of town? At least, that's how it looks."

Brennan nodded, pensive.

I couldn't imagine what she was feeling. I was scared enough, looking over my shoulder all the time. Hodgins had checked our home security system three times last night, and I found myself scrutinizing my email account, running sophisticated virus scans, even startling when my phone received a text. Because with Pelant out there, you never knew when that technology might turn on you.

We, however, turned our attention to dinner.

"I don't know if Booth will be hungry, after the medication," Bren said. "But I thought soup would be nice. Something hearty yet easy to digest."

I gestured at the fridge. "I got sandwich fixings, too, in case he's tired of only soft food from the hospital."

"Thanks, Ange."

"Of course, trying to feed soup to Christine could be an adventure. Still, she's less messy than Michael. I give him something like that, most of it goes on his shirt, rather than in his mouth."

"I might not pick her up until after dinner," Bren said. "We haven't had an evening with all of us together for a while, but…" She frowned. "Is that my phone?" I watched her go to the front door, where she'd left her cell and keys. "Brennan," she answered. "Oh, hi, Teresa. How's Christine?"

She listened for a moment, while I reached for a can opener, some broth, and a pot for dinner.

"You mean she's _not there_?" I heard the same sharp note of panic in Bren's voice that I'd heard two days ago. "_What _FBI agent?"

I whirled around. Her face looked frozen, even while she demanded information. She glanced at me—I must have looked sick—then she took the phone away from her ear and put it on speaker.

"…less than an hour after Angela dropped her off," Teresa was saying. "I got a text from Booth saying two people were coming to pick her up. It was an FBI agent and a social worker. He had a badge, and he talked like he was a friend of Booth's, saying he had to take her to a safe place, just in case. I thought you sent them to protect her…"

Bren's face was stark. "We didn't."

I knew that I should do something—call 911, call Booth or Cam or the FBI—but I just stood there, helpless.

"What did they say?" Brennan asked. "What did they look like?"

Teresa stumbled through a description. The man was tall with a shaved head, he wore a suit; the woman was middle-aged and had an accent. "She looked sort of mean, not like you think a social worker should look, but she clearly knew her way around small children, by the way she picked Christine up…" The girl's voice had been shaking, and now it faltered. "I didn't think there was anything—I mean, I was scared because he said there might be danger, but he looked so… legitimate. But he wasn't, and—oh my God. I gave her to people who… Oh my God."

Bren had put the phone on the table, leaning both hands against the edge in a white-knuckled grip. "Teresa, I need your help. I need you to tell the FBI exactly what happened. I'll have some agents come to you. Tell them exactly what these people looked like, what they said, everything you can remember. We'll get your building's security tapes, too. For the entrance, hallways, parking lot—as many locations as you have." She was thinking aloud, and I was glad one of us was capable of it. I still felt paralyzed.

"Dr. Brennan, I can't tell you—I am so sorry."

She paused, then said what I'd have expected from Booth. "Not as sorry as Pelant is going to be."

I finally found my voice. "You're sure it's him?"

She hung up unceremoniously on the babysitter, then lifted her phone, staring numbly at the screen. "It's him."

She showed me the photo that had just appeared. A picture of a marigold.


	2. Chaos and Search

**AN: **Thank you to jsq and threesquares for beta work.

I only caught a few minutes of last night's ep The Corpse in the Canopy, but it seems to take a much different direction than my story. Still, I feel I'm competing with it!

**Part 2: Chaos and search**

I went with Brennan to break the news.

Booth looked cheerful enough, sitting on the edge of the bed dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. He didn't register our expressions when we first walked in.

"Good, time to get out of here. See, I actually have pants now. No more hospital gowns that leave my ass hanging out." He looked up. "Bones? I am getting out of here, right?"

She nodded.

He reached out and pulled her to him. "What's the matter?"

"I—I've already filled out all the paperwork, so we can just—"

"No." Booth glanced at me, and my face didn't reassure him. "Something's wrong. Bones, you tell me now."

Standing in front of him, she gripped both his hands. "I got a phone call. From the babysitter." Slowly, painfully, but in a level voice, she told him.

I couldn't bear to watch their faces, so I set about checking the room, in case Booth had forgotten something.

Brennan showed him the picture of the marigold.

"_Pelant_," he said, the name grating in his throat, "sent someone to kidnap our daughter?"

"I've called—" Her voice finally lost its tight control. "I called everyone I could think of. They're going to help, we're going to find her, Booth, it's going to—"

He stopped her frantic words by dragging her into a hug. Hard and fierce, they held on, and I heard her breath shudder in her throat.

I stood dumbly by the door, holding Booth's duffel bag, while the strap bit into my shoulder.

It was only a few seconds before they drew back. Booth grabbed the crutches propped against his bed. "We're going to the Bureau. Now."

-.-.-.

The next hours were like a nightmare. A chaotic nightmare of phoning and fear and following leads, then being told to sit and wait while someone else handled it.

Hodgins and I didn't want to let Michael out of our sight for a second. But we agreed to have my dad watch him, with at least two police officers stationed outside our house at all times.

Brennan and Booth.

They went around with blazing, haunted eyes, and I wanted to claw Pelant's eyes out for doing this to them.

"Why weren't the police outside Teresa's apartment?" That was one of the first things Booth demanded when we got to his office.

Over the course of a few hours, a small army assembled there. Me and Hodgins, Cam and Max, Sweets and numerous FBI agents. Asking questions, deploying people on missions and reporting any progress.

It seemed the cops had been on their way to watch the babysitter's place when an urgent call had come in over the radio. It turned out to be a false alarm, but it delayed them just long enough. They never saw the pair who'd taken Christine.

"Do you think Pelant was behind that too, or was it just bad timing?" Hodgins asked. He was sitting in the chair by the door, his hands knotted together, while I leaned against the arm.

"Pelant may be a genius," I said, "but he can't account for every little thing."

"He is a genius," Booth said, "but so is Bones, and so are you with computers. How could we—how were we not more alert? We knew Pelant was out there, we knew he might come back and try something like this." He was sitting at the desk with his injured leg propped up on a box. I was sure he wanted to be pacing the room, the way Max was. Sweets hovered miserably by the window, while Cam had gone to a powwow with local cops.

"We got too comfortable." Brennan stood by Booth's chair, her voice leaden. "We assumed he had fewer resources abroad, that his reach wasn't this far. But even with Angela analyzing those trace signatures, and your connections in the cyber crime department…"

"He got back in the country," Booth growled, "with another fake identity. How did I miss that? How did everyone miss that? This is the FBI, for Christ sake."

"He hadn't made any overt moves yet," Max said. "And you've both been kind of distracted by that car accident a few days ago."

Brennan still looked more frozen than anything. "I _was _distracted by Booth's accident. And I left Christine alone."

"No, Bones, you left her with people we can trust. It was the police who didn't…"

"Sweetie, we were all distracted. I'm the one who dropped her off without making sure—"

"Everyone, stop." Sweets held up his hands. "I know there's a lot of intense emotion here, but we don't need to play the blame game right now. What we need…"

He didn't get to tell us, because Cam came in, brandishing a flash drive. "I've got the apartment's security tapes. We know the ones in the building were disabled, but not the one in the parking lot. I have a copy right here, and our suspects are on it."

-.-.-.

We all relocated to the Jeffersonian, so I had full use of my office software. After I cleaned up the security footage, I ran it through my facial recognition programs.

We found our kidnappers in the DMV database. But we also found out pretty fast: those identities were fake.

Agents went to the addresses on file and came up with nothing. One place didn't exist, and another was the apartment of someone with no discernible connection to the suspect.

Pelant was thwarting us at each step. But there was no way I'd let him get away with it.

The FBI wouldn't either. Booth's boss had diverted all available manpower to this investigation. And even though Christine's abduction made me want to sob and cling to my friends, I wasn't going to sit on my hands.

"Both these people come up completely clean," Booth said from my couch. "No arrest warrants, no parking tickets, nothing suspicious at all."

"That has to be fabricated," I agreed. "If Pelant erased their old identities, he'd have to hack into tons of different databases. I don't see how he could have covered them all."

Brennan stood over Booth, looking braced against any attacker. Max stationed himself near her, periodically touching her shoulder or suggesting that she sit down. She ignored him.

"What about the messages Pelant sent to my phone and Teresa's?" she asked.

The FBI had analyzed those right away, and I'd taken a look too. "I'm afraid it's like before: he erased it. It's basically untraceable."

"But he's changed his M.O. now," Max said. "He went beyond messing with software, changing yearbook photos and bank deposits. He's gotten real people involved."

"What motivation," Brennan demanded, "would they have had to kidnap a child?" Her voice cracked, and Booth touched her hand.

"Money. Probably, Bones. Pelant could have arranged for as much as they wanted, then covered his tracks." She let him pull her down to sit next to him, and the way they were holding each other's hands looked hard enough to hurt.

"Pelant may be a hacker genius," Max said, "but he's not a genius with people. He can't control them and plan for every possibility this time. That's going to be his undoing."

-.-.-.

At exactly eight-thirty, Brennan announced she was taking Booth home.

"No, Bones," he protested weakly. "I can't…"

"Yes. We're going home. You won't heal if you don't rest."

I looked up from the database I was scouring. "Do you want to stay with us tonight?" I offered. Hodgins glanced at me and nodded in support. _I wouldn't want to go home to an empty house either_, his expression seemed to say.

Booth had had to do that less than two years ago, when Brennan took their daughter and fled the trap Pelant had set for her. At least then, Booth had known she and Max would keep Christine safe.

I gathered up a few laptops and notebooks, and we all piled into my car. When we arrived at the house, Hodgins went straight to check on Michael. My dad met us in the foyer. He touched Booth and Brennan on the arm and said, "I have a lot of tough friends and a lot of guns. If any of those can help you here, just say the word."

Booth nodded grimly, and Brennan tried to smile. "You sound like my father." Max had reluctantly left his daughter's side and gone to watch over Russ, Amy and their girls.

Once I'd put everyone's coats in the closet, I had a minute alone with Dad. He took off his sunglasses so I could see the emotion in his eyes. When he hugged me, I nearly broke down crying. His beard scratched my face and he said, "It's okay, baby girl."

"No, Dad. It's not. I have to…" I lifted my head and wiped my eyes. "I have to make sure the guest room is ready. You'll stay here tonight too, won't you?"

He patted my cheek like he had when I was five. "Damn straight I will."

-.-.-.

Michael couldn't sleep that night.

Why were Brennan and Booth staying here? he wanted to know. Where was Christine?

I shared a stricken look with Hodgins. We sat down on either side of his bed, and lied.

"She couldn't come tonight," Jack said. "She's… staying with other friends."

Michael was too young, I told myself, for the inevitable talk about his parents' jobs. All he knew was, mommy's an artist and daddy's a scientist. Not that we, with Booth and Brennan, help put criminals in jail. Criminals bent on killing people, or kidnapping children.

But why were Booth and Brennan here? Michael asked.

"They're… sad." Hodgins' voice cracked. "…because they're separated from Christine, so we invited them here."

I might have been able to come up with something better, but my brain was still swimming from the day's work, with firewalls and smokescreens, lines and patterns of code.

We managed to distract Michael with stories, and he didn't cling to me when I excused myself to check on our friends. "Tell them goodnight," he requested, and I forced myself to smile.

"Yeah, baby. I'll do that."

I pulled an extra blanket from the closet and went to the guest room, where the door was ajar.

They were curled on the bed together. Booth under the covers and Brennan on top of them, still dressed. She'd molded herself along his back, her cheek by his ear, her arm over his. The bedside lamp painted lines around their mouths and shadows under their eyes.

I'd heard them murmuring to each other before I came in, but they hadn't seen me. Instead of barging in, I stepped back. I held the bundled blanket close to my chest and listened. Their voices weren't clear, but the tones were.

_What if… How can we… _

_ I hope. Not your fault. _

-.-.-

Bren and I barely slept that night. She stayed with Booth for a couple hours, then joined me in the living room. Hodgins had kept me company, but he dozed off a few times and I sent him to bed. When Brennan found me I was surrounded by laptops, a blanket and slippers, and several cups of coffee.

"How's Booth doing?" I asked.

"I think he'll sleep. He was restless for a while, but then the medication started to work." Her voice was scratchy, and I could tell by the hungry way she looked at me that she was eager to talk, to do something.

I patted the sofa. "Come help me search."

I turned the laptop so she could see the screen, and summarized my work. At last update, the FBI was ferreting out traces of Pelant, trying to find where and how he'd slipped back into the area. They were also tracking down the car the suspects had gotten into on the security video.

That had been one of the hardest things I've ever had to watch. The image quality was poor, since the camera had been mounted high on a light post. But we recognized the bag that Booth and Brennan always packed, slung over the man's shoulder. We could see the top of Christine's head as the woman carried her to a car. We watched the strangers get in, and take her away.

I pushed the memory back. "So, right now, I'm looking for the kidnappers' real identities. Because this guy…" I called up a picture of the man who'd impersonated an FBI agent. "…comes out looking like a boy scout." And he didn't look like one at all, I thought. He looked like a bouncer at an unsavory club, or a pitiless guard in a James Bond movie.

Brennan was staring at the image, too. I knew she was wondering what kind of awful people Pelant had found to take her daughter. We met each other's eyes over the screen, and I felt my throat closing up. I couldn't stand seeing her go through this. She was like a sister to me, and I loved Christine as much as my own child.

I saw her bite her lip to keep it from trembling. I knew that if I didn't give her a pep talk, we were both going to dissolve into a helpless ball of tears.

"Brennan, listen." I grabbed her hands. "We learned a lot, the last time around. See all this?" I waved at the computers and papers strewn over the coffee table. "I've got the strongest firewall in the world, and custom-made decoding software that I designed with the FBI. I'm putting on my war paint, okay? I'm going after the enemy. Because your dad was right. Pelant can't hide in his cyber mazes any more."

Brennan made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. She wiped her eyes, squeezed my hand, and reached for the other laptop. "Tell me where to start."

We examined every database we could think of. In order to erase information, Pelant would have had to cover a lot of ground, both official and not. Federal, state and local rosters. Public arrest warrants or other documents. Library cards, catalogue shopping, employment sites...

It was a daunting task. Even if it wasn't likely to produce immediate results, it kept us busy. I didn't want to wonder what my brain would do if not otherwise occupied.

My dad showed up to help for a couple hours. Or if not help, just make us feel better. He brought mugs of tea, discussed the search, and made a thorough patrol of the house before going back to bed. "I'll be up at the crack of dawn to watch Michael," he assured us. "You just do what you have to do."

Brennan kept checking her phone for updates. Nothing so far, but Cam and Sweets had promised to stay at the Bureau, helping wherever they could and letting us know any developments. Max was calling his contacts, whoever they were. "Unofficial channels," was all he'd said. "Can be very useful."

Now we hunted systematically through online venues, and thought to search paper records as soon as businesses opened in the morning.

When I glanced at Brennan, I saw how her eyes bored into the computer screen, and feverish spots of color burned in her cheeks.

"Wait." I blinked at my own screen, willing my eyes to feel less tired. "I think I've got something." I'd been sifting through social networking sites, looking for recent changes to profiles, and running the fake identity along with my facial recognition programs.

"This looks like our suspect, right?" I pointed to a Facebook photo of several friends holding beer cans and standing outside an apartment.

Brennan frowned at it. "Yes… his bone structure matches."

I pounced on the caption. "His friend posted this photo, and identified him by a nickname! See, 'Wolf-man.' It's not the fake name; it must be related to the real one."

"If we can just find how it's related… You think Pelant really missed this?"

"He was probably too busy plotting with the car mechanic, or bribing and instructing his minions. I bet he never found this." I looked more carefully at the building in the photo. "This is the suspect's own apartment! See, the tag says they're in a western suburb. You can't see the house number but…" I opened the photo in an editing program, then magnified the apartment's window. "This reflects the building across the street, and the house number would be… here." I clarified and flipped the numbers.

"You found the address across the street from our suspect," Brennan said, with more energy than I'd heard in hours. "It won't be hard to cross-reference the house numbers with the style of building."


	3. Exhaustion

**AN: **Thanks to jsq and threesquares for beta work.

**Part 3: Exhaustion**

In the morning, agents searched the man's apartment.

His real name was Garrett Wolf, and the woman, according to the FBI, was Andrea Pesovic. We didn't know much about her yet. But we had the guy's possessions, and a lot of possible leads: a calendar, address book, receipts and photos. Wolf seemed to be an unethical jack-of-all-trades. His records listed jobs ranging from trash collector to martial arts teacher, with some online scams thrown in along the way.

His place looked like he'd left in a hurry, taking a computer and anything else that might lead us to Pelant. Agents brought me some shredded documents they'd found, and I got to work reconstructing them. (After I took a nap, though. I'd gotten maybe two hours of sleep on the living room couch, and Brennan hadn't gotten any more.)

The Bureau was checking out the suspects' friends and family, while trying to recreate Pelant's moves. But I didn't think it mattered how he'd gotten into the country, or where the kidnappers had come from. It only mattered where they went. Where they were now, with Christine.

I doubted the shredded papers would be worth anything either. Wouldn't Pelant have given his recruits explicit instructions? No cyber trail, no paper trail.

Still, I plunged ahead with the projects. My day consisted of juggling: trying to decide which leads were most promising, and pursuing them the hardest. After a few hours, I'd go see Michael at day care. Then lunch, though I felt too sick to eat. Next, check on Booth and Brennan, and head back to my computer.

Caroline appeared in the lab in the middle of that second day. She swept in like a warship, saying, "I will get you any and all warrants. I will pressure people with any legal leverage that you need. I will..." She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and just about started sobbing. "Abducting that precious child! What is this world coming to?" Wiping her eyes, she glanced at Booth on my couch. "Just let me at him. I will take your gun and I will shoot that Christopher Pelant, if I can even see straight to do it."

She wanted to hug everyone, then. Booth and I let her; Brennan didn't. She'd just come in from her own office and Caroline greeted her, "Cherie, I am so sorry. We're going to get this little weasel once and for all, you'll see."

Brennan stiffened and pulled away as the prosecutor reached for her. "If you're hugging everyone, you must think it's unlikely Christine is safe. It's been almost twenty-four hours, and that timeframe gives the abductors plenty of time to—"

"Bones, don't say stuff like that! Don't even think it."

"I agree with him." Caroline was aghast. "That's not what I meant at all."

Brennan closed her eyes for a second. Then she made her voice expressionless, the way I knew she did when she was hurting the most. "Thank you for coming," she told Caroline. "We might need your help." She turned to me. "What have you found in the last hour?"

-.-.-.

Over the next two days, I saw Booth push himself to exhaustion. And I saw Bren's heart break into more and more pieces, to watch him do it.

He traveled between the lab and the Bureau, making endless phone calls. He contacted other agents or informants; he searched official databases; he limped around to issue orders, receive updates and demand information. All of this on crutches, with a brace on his leg, when he should have been at home dozing blissfully under a fog of medication.

Once, when I returned to my office where he was stationed, I heard him talking on his cell. The person on the other line must have been slow or uninterested, because he said, "I've tried to be patient with you, but clearly that's not going to cut it. _My child has been kidnapped. _What part of that don't you understand? Her life is on the line here, and there's not one _single thing _I can do about it."

The clerk must have apologized and scrambled to get the information. Booth jotted some things on a pad, said savagely, "thank you," and hung up. Then he saw me in the doorway. Sighing, he ran a hand over his face. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. What do you have?"

"The woman, Pesovic, we've got her library records. She was there regularly, on these dates" (he showed me his notes), "to use the public computers. We're getting access to her account, to see the books she checked out and hopefully whatever she was doing online."

-.-.-.

Brennan pushed herself just as hard. She accompanied Booth to the Bureau, or stalked tirelessly around the lab, keeping tabs on what everyone was doing.

She felt helpless, I knew. Booth, at least, could have a hand in directing the search. Other agents deferred to him, reporting frequently, and jumping to do what he said.

Brennan, though, had nothing. No bones to examine, no tests to run. I gave her as many tasks as I could, to help me. Her quick, analytical mind made things go faster, but computers weren't her field.

She did have some science to turn to. At the suspect's apartment, we'd taken every possible bit of evidence we could find. Right now, Hodgins was analyzing shoes and clothes for particulates, with Brennan breathing down his neck at every step. He'd found nothing remarkable yet.

The rest of her energy, Bren poured into caring for Booth. She made sure he ate, drank and took medication at regular intervals. When he agreed to rest she sat by him, putting ice on his injured shin after he'd been moving around too much, or doing gentle tissue massage to promote healing.

As much as he would let her, anyway.

It was early afternoon, in my office. I was working on the shredded documents. Some looked like emails, maybe between Pelant and his minions, but I had a long way to go to reconstruct them. Once I did, we still had to decide if they were legitimate, or else some false trail Pelant had laid for us.

Booth was on hold with someone at the FBI, hoping for an update. He and Brennan sat on my couch with the phone between them. I listened with one ear, but focused mainly on my screen. The computer had completed one part of the process; now I had to re-organize the pieces it had already matched and initiate the next stage of the pattern-recognition program.

While waiting for the agent to come back on the line, Bren had started water heating in my little electric pot. She was offering Booth different tea blends, listing their tastes and health benefits. I thought his responses had been getting more gruff—both to her and his colleague—but then he lost it and snapped at her.

"For God's sake, Bones, it doesn't matter what type of _tea _I have, when our daughter is missing!"

I heard her take a sharp breath as she stood up from the couch.

"Damn it." Booth put his hands over his face. It looked like he was trying to get hold of himself, or maybe he was afraid to see her reaction.

She didn't storm out, didn't say anything; merely watched him. I thought I saw a tear slip down her cheek (just one, mind you) before she brushed it away.

"I'm sorry." He dropped his hands and reached out to her. "I'm sorry, Bones. Come here. Please." She sat down next to him and he pulled her close, kissing her hair. "I'll have whatever kind of tea you think is best, okay?"

A voice came from the phone resting on the coffee table. "Agent Booth?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Go ahead."

"We've got all the data from the female perp's library account. You wanted us to send it to Ms. Montenegro?"

"That's right." Booth turned to me. "You ready?"

"Give me one second." I saved and closed what I'd been working on. "Okay." As my computer linked with the Bureau, I checked the encryption and connection strength, then watched the colored bar of the download window. "I've got it. I'll get to work right away."

While Booth dutifully drank his tea, I spent some time on phone with the Bureau's tech people, deciding how we should divide up the workload. But, as I told Brennan and Booth, it shouldn't take long to see what we were dealing with.

-.-.-.

It was early evening when I finally left my computer. I'd been so engrossed in work that I'd lost track of my friends, but I soon found Booth in Brennan's office. He was napping on her couch, while she sat next to him on the floor. I nearly walked in and woke him, but stopped myself in time. Brennan didn't see me either, so I hovered in the doorway (something I seemed to be doing a lot lately).

He lay on his back with his head turned toward her. She sat still, watching him sleep. One of her hands rested on his arm, and the other touched his face. She was stroking his brow and cheek, over the healing bruises from the car accident. Gently, so gently. And the look on her face—pained, attentive, loving—made me feel I was interrupting something far more intimate.

I backed away, my eyes tearing up.

Maybe I was a coward, too. I didn't want to watch Brennan contemplate what she had to lose.

But I understood what she was doing: Booth was the one person she could _help_. She could lessen his pain, at least the physical kind. She'd come so close to losing him this week, in one violent blow. They'd almost lost each other too many times, before they were even a couple. Because of their risky jobs and their own emotional stubbornness.

Now, at least, Brennan had Booth safe and in front of her. Even if—

I realized I'd stumbled back to my office, and had to grab the doorframe before I could finish the thought.

Even if the worst happened, and we didn't get Christine back, they would still have each other. Surely they could get through such a loss, together. I didn't want to consider any other possibility.

But I should take a hint from their bravery. Bren tried to control what little she could control, while preparing herself for possible outcomes. Booth pushed relentlessly ahead, refusing to acknowledge anything but a happy ending: Christine would be safe, and Pelant would be punished once and for all.

I got a Kleenex from my desk and blew my nose. I downed some cookies and caffeinated tea for energy. Then I got back on the phone with the Bureau. We'd found encrypted emails buried in the woman's account, and even if it took hours, we were going to crack them.


	4. Attempted Rescue

**AN: **Thank you to jsq and threesquares for reading and providing feedback.

**Part 4: Attempted Rescue**

I slept in my office that night. Jack kept me company, which is a good thing, because otherwise I would've had a nervous breakdown. The dark, high-ceilinged lab felt kind of creepy overnight. And even though I had work to do, my concentration was easily broken. I was too furious at Pelant, and too worried about Christine.

My dad stayed with Michael, so we knew he was safe. Max had shown up earlier to drive Booth and Brennan home. From what little he said to me, his contacts hadn't been able to help find Pelant.

Now, after sleeping a few hours on the sofa, I planted myself in front of my extra-large computer screen.

Hodgins, bless his heart, served as my gofer and emotional support guy. He made a lot of calls to relay information; he brought me snacks, massaged some stress out of my neck, and tried to give pep talks when my energy sagged.

The first thing I'd done was analyze Pesovic's library record for patterns. I doubted Pelant would try the same trick twice—writing a virus into the books' bar codes—but I wasn't taking any chances. The Bureau techs and I made sure our computers were separate from the institutional networks, and that all our work was saved on external hard drives.

I talked regularly with Agent Blomquist, my contact in the FBI's cyber crime team. They were staying up all night too, working the email decryption. Though it wouldn't have taken very long to crack an ordinary account, Pelant must have fortified this one with more security.

"So far," I told Hodgins after a couple hours' work, "the library books look clean." He'd been watching over my shoulder and agreed with that assessment, so I turned my full attention to the email.

It looked like Pelant had stuck with asymmetric encryption. That was typical for this kind of application, but because we didn't have any starting data to break the cipher, we were trying a pure mathematical attack.

Dawn still hadn't broken over the city when Blomquist asked me to link up my machines, adding computational power to the search for a key. I did so, watching the screen with trepidation. If Pelant had planted malicious software, this was when we would find out.

Jack and I monitored the file sharing, then initiated the program. Data danced across the screen as my computer ran possible algorithms.

We held our breath, but there were no flashes, no blue screens of death. I gave a sigh of relief and managed to smile at Hodgins.

We could reconfigure and keep trying.

A few hours later, we found it.

Jack had been on the phone with Brennan and Booth. They came in about eight a.m., with Cam and Sweets not far behind.

I punched in one more set of commands, then let my computer do its thing. Someone put a cup of coffee in my hands. I brought it to my lips, almost burning my tongue with the bitter, invigorating taste.

Once I'd swallowed, I looked at the circle of people around me. Almost everyone wore rumpled clothes and squinted a little at the sunshine outside my window. I pushed some hair behind my ear, not caring how unkempt I was after the all-nighter.

Booth leaned on his crutches next to Brennan. He looked a bit better than yesterday. Maybe the drugs, and her care, were helping him rest. Brennan, though… she'd probably slept in her clothes—if she'd slept. I saw shadows under her eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks. The bones of her face looked somehow more defined, as if everything soft were being eaten away.

She'd given me a deep, measuring look when she first came in. _You were here all night, Ange?_ her gaze seemed to say. _Thank you._

I just hoped I was worthy of that thanks.

My computer made a chirping sound: a string of numbers and symbols had appeared. On speakerphone, Blomquist gave a little cheer.

"That's it," Hodgins said. "You found it!"

I called up the email files right away and plugged in the key. But as I watched data scroll across my screen, something niggled in the back of my mind.

"There," Cam was saying, leaning close to the screen. "They're definitely emails from Pelant to his accomplice! And the dates are all recent, within the last couple weeks. This is exactly what we need."

Sweets must have seen doubt in my expression, and called me on it. "Angela? This is great news, right? You don't look that happy."

Everyone turned to me.

"Guys," I said. "Wait. Something's not right here. You see this?" I pointed to the key we'd just discovered.

"That's the code." Hodgins was grinning, sleep-deprived and oblivious. "The thing that unlocks it."

"Yeah, but… it's not that large of a key. Kind of average."

"What does that mean?" Booth asked. He was staring at the screen, and me, with a look that would put a hawk to shame. A look that said he might shoot me if I'd gotten anything wrong.

"It means," I said, "that the code was only average strength. It took us hours to crack it, yeah. But it's taken me _months _to crack other codes sometimes."

Blomquist, still on the line, didn't seem worried. "Maybe Pelant was in a hurry, didn't have time to make a longer one. This cipher is still pretty strong. It's a good thing we had your computer, or we would've had to call a bunch of people in other offices and wake them up, to link with their machines. Anyway, the decryption's running now. We should have all the data in a few minutes."

I let him sign off, so his team could get some sleep. They would hand over the information to Booth's colleagues, who were reporting back for duty right now.

Everyone else, meanwhile, questioned me.

"What do you mean it's not that large of a key?" Cam began.

"Well, a larger key is harder to break. The bigger it is, the more complex your search has to be, to the point where it becomes almost impossible to crack the code directly."

Brennan had been studying the newly decrypted data, and pointed something out. "What about this? It looks like a record of the data usage."

"Yeah, I was just getting to that." I selected and enlarged that corner of my screen. "From these traces, it looks like the email account used to have a lot more messages. But they've been deleted, recently."

"Can you get them back?" Hodgins asked.

"I'm not sure…" I worked my control pad. "Damn it. No, I've seen this before. Pelant is too good at this."

"But he _wasn't _good at creating a really strong key?"

"That's just it. He has the ability; he could have made it nearly impossible to crack."

"So," Sweets said, "why didn't he?"

"He was just in a hurry, like Agent Blomquist said?" Hodgins didn't sound convinced.

"I don't know," I mused. "It doesn't seem like him."

"You mean…" Brennan glanced between me and Booth. "He _wanted_ us to find this?"

We all looked at each other, then at Sweets. He was the psychology expert. But he looked sick, like he saw a road leading him somewhere he really didn't want to go.

"It's a little too convenient." Booth spoke for him. "I mean, look: we search this woman's library records; we find a bunch of emails all from the last two weeks, directly from Pelant, and not that strongly encrypted."

I heard Sweets take a breath. "Pelant could have made a mistake. Or, he could be playing us."

-.-.-

We finished decoding the messages and read them in record time. They showed Pelant giving specific instructions to Andrea Pesovic, and what's more, they included an address: where she should take Christine.

We discussed our misgivings with the FBI, but we all agreed: there was too much at stake not to act on this information.

The address belonged to an office building. Apparently it had been vacant for a few weeks, undergoing renovation.

Before I knew it, I had jumped in my car along with Hodgins, Booth and Brennan. Cam and Sweets came in another vehicle. We met a team at the Bureau and I followed them through the city.

They were going to storm the building. At least, that's how I thought of it. I didn't really know how this was going to work.

We talked about our suspicions on the way. I still didn't like this, and Booth agreed. On one hand, Christine could be rescued today. We could have her in our arms before lunch. On the other hand, we could be walking into a trap.

"Do you think," Hodgins asked, "that Pelant has a bomb or something?"

Booth said, "The team's going to be prepared for anything."

My hands shook as I drove, and it wasn't from too much caffeine. "But that's too messy for him, right? It's not his style." I preferred to think positively: Pelant couldn't cut it in the real world. He'd lost track of the variables; he'd goofed up, and we were going to catch him.

Still, when we got there, we decided to wait outside rather than rushing in with the team.

"I'll go," Cam volunteered. We all stood on a side street, surrounded by FBI agents and police cars. "If Christine's in there, she's going to need a friendly face among all these cops." Sweets insisted he would go, too. After all, he had a gun and knew how to use it. "But you," Cam told Brennan and Booth, "shouldn't risk yourselves."

They objected, though not that strongly. Pelant had picked them out, to make them suffer. If he had something else up his sleeve, we didn't need to deliver them into his hands.

We watched the team go in.

Our location was on the far edge of the city. We'd parked in the shadow of tall buildings, while on either side, mid-morning sunshine shone down bright and flat.

The leader gave an order and black-clad agents hustled away. They rounded the corner toward the office building, out of sight. Two guys had helmets and body armor; they'd check for bombs or booby traps. Everyone else bore vests and side arms. Another man wore an AV headset, so we could watch the action unfold.

We gathered around a laptop resting on the hood of a police car. I was trying to see over Brennan's head, so I couldn't make out anything for a while. Then the image resolved itself: a bobbing view of stairs, then a foyer and glass doors. The room past the doors seemed empty except for an old desk. We waited, for what seemed like a year, while the bomb techs scoured everything. No wires or cords, no strange bundles in the corner.

I realized I could hear Booth breathing. Like an athlete, deep and regular. But, I was sure, far from calm.

Finally, the team went in. Agents peeled off to every angle, checking.

Nothing.

Nothing but an object in the center of the desk. It looked like an iPad. I saw Cam go over and gingerly touch it. The screen turned from black to gray, and an image appeared.

Before I could see what it was, a loud buzzing came over the AV link. Agents spun around in alarm. The cops standing on the street started blurting questions into their microphones. All we could see on the screen were people milling about, then a close view of some wall-mounted control unit.

One of the agents reported in. "The building's security system was just activated. It looks like someone upgraded it recently—tampered with it, more like—because it's the most high-tech thing this old place has." His voice came from the laptop, tinny and disgusted. "The point is, we're locked in. It could take some time to undo."

The conversation went on, as rescue arrangements were made. But I'd stopped listening. Pelant wasn't here. Christine wasn't here.

Then I had to back up, to let Brennan move away from the parked car. She put one hand in the pocket of her jacket and took out her vibrating cell phone.

At the same time, Booth's phone rang. He put Cam on speaker. "I'm afraid you're gonna want to see this," she said. "Pelant left a message on this iPad."

"You don't need to show us." Brennan gripped her phone. "He just sent one to me." She was staring so hard at the screen, it was like she wanted to destroy it and dive into it at the same time.

Booth braced himself on one crutch and shoved his cell at me. When he grabbed Brennan's phone from her, I saw her look away, rather than watch his reaction.

Dimly I heard Cam and Sweets asking if we were okay.

Finally, Booth let me look. He handed over the phone and leaned against the car, shaking with helpless fury. Brennan stumbled forward and he put one arm around her, pulling her tight against him.

I looked down at the message from Pelant. It read, _Took you a little longer than I thought. But you guessed wrong._

He'd sent a photo of himself next to Christine. It looked like he was sitting on the floor in a nondescript room, near a plastic child fence. Christine stood on the other side of it, her eyes wet and her mouth twisted in fear. Pelant bent close to her like some proud older brother, smiling an arrogant, perverse smile.

"Angela." I jumped at the way Booth said my name. "Get Blomquist and his computer geeks back on the job. Tell them to analyze every single pixel of that image, do you hear me?"

"Yeah. Absolutely." I fumbled with my phone and dialed the number. Booth, meanwhile, swore long and fluently at Pelant, telling Bren exactly what he would do to the man before he killed him. It was kind of scary, actually. I'd even say it was hot, except the situation was too miserable for me to appreciate it.

Booth dialed his own phone next, telling his Bureau colleagues how to continue the search for Christine.

Hodgins and I stood around the sidewalk feeling wretched. We did what we could: sending Pelant's photo to the cyber team, and texting Cam about the building's security system.

Brennan had wandered a little distance away. It seemed she was listening to the bunch of cops who were trying to sort things out. I knew she would feel better having some contribution to make, but as far as I could tell she hadn't said a word.

While Booth gave orders and Hodgins texted Sweets, I glanced up to see Brennan turn back toward us. Her eyes were blank and dazed. Her steps faltered, and she had to put a hand out, catching herself against a parked car.

Booth noticed instantly. "Bones, you okay?" She had her head down, leaning heavily on the car. I started over there, but Booth was faster, abandoning his crutches and hopping to her side. He touched her shoulder, ducking his head to see her face. "Jesus, you're white as a sheet."

"I'm okay. Just lightheaded."

He swore. "That's what happens when you don't eat or sleep for two days. Make that four days, since the car accident." He turned to me. "You have any food in your car?"

"Um, yeah. I always have snacks for Michael."

Hodgins guided Bren to the back seat of the car, while I found some granola bars and juice. Booth sat in the front so he could watch over her. I stood by the open doors holding more snacks, and Hodgins kept an eye on the monitor that still showed our team locked in the building.

"I shouldn't have named her that." Brennan's voice was so quiet, I wouldn't have heard it if I hadn't been right next to her.

"Bones?"

"This is all because of me, somehow. Pelant is targeting _me_. My family. But maybe I'm not meant to have a family. I gave her a name that was bad luck…"

"Bones, you're not making sense."

"We shouldn't have…" Bren looked like she'd had the wind knocked out of her and still couldn't get her breath. "We shouldn't have named her Christine, after my mother. Look what happened to _her_. It's bad luck."

I started to say, "Sweetie, you don't believe in luck," but Booth cut across my words.

"What are you talking about? I asked you not to say stuff like that! We're going to get her back, Bones. But you can't go thinking… It sounds like you're giving up on our daughter!"

That, finally, roused Brennan out of the trance she'd been in. "I would _never _give up on her. It sounds like you're the one who can't face reality!" Her voice was rising toward the hysterical. "Pelant has tricked us from the very beginning. He framed me for murder, he tried to kill you in that car... He's always one step ahead, and maybe I'm not good enough to—"

"No. Do _not _talk like that." Booth vaulted off the seat, taking his crutches under his arms like rifles. "I can't stay here and do nothing. I'll be at the Bureau, maybe the firing range. You wanna start acting like yourself again—the rational, stubborn squint who never gives up—then you let me know."

-.-.-

I drove the three of us back to the Jeffersonian. We didn't really know what we were going to do at the lab. We just needed a base camp to return to.

It was barely eleven a.m., but I'd been up for so long, I could hardly say what day it was.

I stopped at a red light. Cars and taxis roared past; pedestrians hurried through the crosswalk carrying briefcases and backpacks. How could they, I thought, go about their business like it was just another day?

Hodgins had given Brennan the front seat, and I saw her looking out at the city as if wondering the same thing.

I didn't realize I was crying until the road started to blur in front of me. And then there was no going back. I felt my eyes overflow and my throat close against the pressure of sobs. For a few seconds, I fought it. But Hodgins and Bren noticed, and their concern made it worse.

Blubbering and gasping, I found a place to pull over. I coasted to the end of a parking lot and stopped the car, bowing my head over the steering wheel. "I'm sorry," I choked out. "I didn't mean…"

"Hey, it's okay." Hodgins touched my shoulder from the back seat.

"Ange…" Brennan sounded shocked, but full of sympathy. Like she hadn't understood, until now, how hard this was on others.

I didn't want her to worry about me on top of everything. I tried to wave it away. "I'm fine, really." But my body wouldn't listen, and I just kept crying.

"Here." Brennan handed me something. One of Booth's handkerchiefs.

I accepted, wiping snot and tears all over it.

Bren reached out and smoothed some hair from my face. It surprised me into looking at her: shadowed eyes, sad mouth. Love for me, her friend.

And Booth had just accused her of losing hope.

I would not let the two of them split up over this. It had started to drive them apart, and I saw how it could go: things they said in the heat of the moment, his faith versus her pragmatism. If the search dragged on, if the pain kept accumulating…

_No_, I told myself. _I won't let it happen._

"Angie?" Hodgins spoke very gently. "I'll drive the rest of the way, if you want."

Nodding and sniffing, I held the handkerchief tightly in my hand. Brennan tucked one more strand of hair behind my ear, like a sister, like a mother.

-.-.-

**AN:** Thanks to everyone who's reviewing or favoriting this story! But after this chapter, how much do you hate me or Pelant right now?


	5. Interns and building blocks

**AN: **Beta read provided by jsq, who is a superhero.

**Part 5: Interns and building blocks**

When we got to the lab, we found Clark Edison standing by the forensic platform, flanked by an entire crew of interns.

I saw Finn Abernathy and our current students. I also saw Fisher, Daisy and Wendall, who'd finished their internships and moved on. Some of them, I was sure, had to fly here from halfway across the country.

Wendall stepped forward. "We heard what happened and we want to help."

"We've wanted to help all along, actually," Clark put in.

"Especially now," Daisy said, "when Lance is trapped in a locked-down building!" Even though they weren't dating, she clearly still worried about him.

Hodgins and I stared dumbly at the group for a few seconds. Brennan said, "Thank you for coming, but we don't have any evidence to process." She turned away toward her office. "I need to sleep. Wake me if there's news."

Hodgins went up to the platform where the interns had assembled, and I followed. Everyone started talking at once, asking for updates and giving wild suggestions about what they could do.

I sank into a chair and put my hands over my face. I hadn't recovered from the all-nighter, or my crying on the way here. "Guys, please!" I said after a minute. "You're giving me a headache."

Everyone shut up, except Hodgins. He was leaning on a work table with a frenzied glint in his eyes. "We don't have any evidence to process, no. Because we don't _get _much evidence with Pelant, we just get technology turned against us. But what if this time, we use technology against _him_?"

"What do you mean?" Fisher asked.

"Well, the FBI put out an Amber Alert for Christine, and—"

"It hasn't turned up anything useful," I said heavily.

"I know, but they also issued a BOLO for Pelant and the two kidnappers, right?" Hodgins stood up straighter with excitement. "What if we put out some kind of common-person's BOLO, using social media?" He glanced over the crowd of interns. "You're all on Twitter or something, right? What if we sent out a request for information, with pictures of Christine, Pelant and the two kidnappers, over all of our networks? Someone has to have seen _something_, right?"

Wendall was nodding. "If we all send this to our friends, and ask them to send it to their friends…"

"It would be like searching hundreds of miles within a few hours." Fisher looked surprised. "There really might be a silver lining to this enormous cloud of gloom hanging over us."

"We need to leave specific instructions, though," Hodgins went on. "If anyone does see the criminals, they shouldn't take any action, just get in touch with us or the FBI right away."

I found myself nodding, caught by the idea. "We could set up a tip line, or a link that'll connect right to Agent Blomquist's team."

It only took a few minutes before we were setting things in motion. Well, everyone but me. By this time, I was yawning so much that I wouldn't be any use. So I left Hodgins and the interns to spread out, taking over every computer on the forensic platform.

Before I took a nap, I went to see Michael Vincent. It was a mental health break. Because after the failed rescue, I had to reassure myself that there were still innocent and positive things in this world.

I walked into the colorful day care center, where my dad had brought Michael this morning. He ran over when he saw me. I crouched down to give him a hug, but it wasn't the usual squeeze-and-release. I held onto my son as hard as I dared, pressing my cheek against his curly dark head.

Pretty soon he squirmed to get away, saying, "Come see." He dragged me over to a corner where a few kids were playing with blocks. Once I'd sat down on the carpet, he started building a tower. He put a couple of the lightweight, oversize bricks together for a foundation and then stacked it higher.

I watched him hungrily, wanting to hold him and never let go. _My son is safe_, I kept telling myself. _No crazy killers are out to get him. He's going to be fine__—__and so is Christine. I will not have to tell him his friend is missing and might never come back. I will not have to think what awful things could be happening to her._

But I did think of it.

Here, in this lively little day care with pictures of puppies on the wall. I'd kept it at bay so far. But now it welled up like a flood.

Even if Pelant and his minions didn't hurt Christine, she would still be scared and traumatized.

All we had to go on was that photo. The techs hadn't found any embedded data, and it was too closely cropped to glean clues about the location. At least Christine looked unhurt. Was she being held in one corner of a room? Was that woman taking care of her? Or, once Pelant had her, would he just lock her somewhere all alone?

And if they hurt her…

I'd seen a lot of terrible things in this job. But if Pelant even _considered_…

"Look!" Michael crowed, and I took a couple deep breaths, trying to dispel my thoughts. My child stood next to a tower as tall as he was, ready to place the final block on top.

"I see, baby." I tried to sound enthusiastic. "That looks great."

He offered me the last block. "You do it."

"Oh. That's very sweet." I leaned forward and balanced the piece on top. Michael stood admiring the tower, hands on his hips. His face looked just like Hodgins when he would proclaim _King of the Lab!_

Michael turned to me with an impish grin. "Now we knock it down!"

-.-.-.

I slept on my office couch for a few hours. When I woke up, an idea had appeared in my head, and hushed voices were talking somewhere nearby.

The idea was to finish reconstructing the shredded documents from Garrett Wolf's apartment. The voices were Sweets and Hodgins, talking urgently in my doorway.

"…for particulates or other evidence?"

"Yeah, Brennan says they're bringing it in now."

"Hey," Sweets said, "you're awake."

Blinking, I sat up. "Hey. You got out of lockdown?"

"Yeah, they just had to figure out how to override the—well, the first override—that Pelant made to the security system."

"Where's Cam?"

"As soon as she got out she went back to the Bureau. Whether to help or just check on Booth, I'm not sure."

Now I saw Brennan in the hallway, talking on a cell phone. "What's going on?" I asked.

Hodgins gave the first real grin I'd seen in days. "They found the car. The car we saw on the security tape, that the kidnappers drove away in."

I was suddenly wide awake. I waved at them to stop hanging around in the doorway. "Come in and tell me everything!"

Hodgins sat next to me on the couch. "Brennan's on the phone with Booth now. Apparently some local busybody called it in. Said the car had been sitting in this alley not far from her house, a car she'd never seen before. That it was there at least twenty-four hours and probably abandoned."

"Because she," Sweets said, "is the type who likes to keep tabs on everyone in the neighborhood."

"Well, that's good for us!"

He glanced out the door at Brennan, pacing up and down with the phone to her ear. "If I heard right, the FBI just confirmed it was the same rental car. Its plates match the one we saw on video at the babysitter's apartment."

"The one they took Christine away in!" Then I had an awful thought. "Do you think it's something else Pelant planted for us?"

Sweets shook his head, considering. Before he could say anything, Brennan barged in. "Hodgins, I need you. They're bringing the vehicle into the FBI lab, and I want you with me. We're going to study every single molecule on that car."


	6. Maps and shreds

**AN: **Thank you to jsq for the beta read. I'm also grateful to threesquares for helping me brainstorm key plot ideas that appear in chapters 5 and 6.

**Part 6: Maps and Shreds**

I wanted to go with Bren and Hodgins to the FBI lab where the car had been brought. But I stayed in my office, piecing the shredded documents together.

Max appeared not long after I'd started. He stood in the doorway looking rueful, hands shoved in his pockets. "You have anything I can help with? Booth just threw me out."

"Come on in." Once he was standing by my screen I asked, "Why did Booth throw you out?"

"At the time he was helping sort through tips from that social media net you cast. I guess I just got in his way. I'm no good with technology." He sighed. "None of my methods have worked. You know, I'm old school. But my contacts couldn't help here. At least Tempe feels better, now that there's science to do."

"Going over every inch of that car?"

He nodded. "I'd go help her, but with your Dr. Hodgins and the FBI techs, there were already too many cooks stirring the pot."

"Well…" I pointed at my screen. "If you're in the mood for puzzles, I have one."

He gave me a little smile. "I'm good at puzzles."

We were lucky that Wolf hadn't shredded a large number of documents. Most of them looked like bank and credit card statements. After studying them for anything significant, I forwarded them to the FBI.

Even though Wolf had chosen a cheap shredder, it still took several hours to piece everything together.

For a break, I called my dad. "Don't you worry," he said. "I'd be happy to take Michael again. I thought I'd pick him up around three, so we can go to the park. Then before bedtime, I could teach him some chords on that little guitar I bought."

"Thanks, Dad." I hung up the phone with a smile on my face.

Hodgins called me on Skype, next, from the FBI garage. When his image replaced the mess of paper scraps on my screen, I saw he had a streak of dirt on his face, but looked absorbed and purposeful.

"What have you found?"

"A lot," he said, "and we're still analyzing it. A couple guys are checking the odometer and the rental company records, while the rest of us…" He held up a small glass evidence jar. "I thought I was onto something for a minute, with this grass I pulled off the tires. It looked rare at first, but turned out to be a weed that grows just about everywhere. We're still sifting through the other samples, but I can tell you…" He glanced over his shoulder, where I could make out lab techs circulating around a car. He lowered his voice. "Booth and Brennan are scaring the shit out of these poor federal agents."

"They're working together? Not fighting?"

"Oh, they're teaming up. To make everyone's life miserable."

"Well, that's good news." Hodgins raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you know what I mean. Because the last time I saw them they were yelling at each other. So, what else? What are they doing?"

"Well, Booth is going back and forth between us and the field agents. Brennan's watching us every second, very meticulous. Making sure everything is done precisely, no margin for error—and as fast as humanly possible. She's personally checking every task that people do. See…" He angled the computer screen so I could see one side of the car, and the legs of someone lying under it.

"Is that Brennan?"

"Yep. Checking the undercarriage for anything we missed. And," Hodgins leaned close to the screen, "she just chewed out one of the techs for messy handwriting when he labeled an evidence bag. Another guy must've made some face in reaction to that—I didn't see it—but Booth snapped at him to show more respect."

"That sounds like teamwork, all right." I glanced around my office, to make sure Max was still getting coffee. "Hodgins. You really think we'll find something on the car?"

"I don't know. I hope so. Sweets is here helping the social media search, and he thought… he said that Pelant is only smart in a narrow realm of subjects. Either he didn't think we'd find the car, or he didn't care if we did. Like he didn't realize how much we could pull from it. It's just…" He looked at his specimen jar. "…whether the evidence will help us find Christine."

"It _will_," I said. "It has to. They took that exact car from the babysitter's apartment to wherever they're holding her, right?"

"Well, that's the assumption, but…"

"No, Hodgins." I forestalled whatever caution he was going to raise. "You can say I'm jumping to conclusions if you want. But I really need to _do _that jumping right now, okay?"

His blue eyes held mine. He nodded.

-.-.-

Max returned, handing me a mug of coffee and keeping one for himself. But he didn't look ready to dive back into work.

I followed his gaze to my window. Clouds had blown in after this morning and now rain rolled down the glass.

"I didn't think it could get any worse," Max said. "Having to leave my kids and not contact them for years. Seeing my wife almost killed in front of me. Then Pelant, framing my daughter for murder. But _this_. My grandchild... Watching Tempe—how she and Booth have to—"

"I _know_," I said. "I know."

When he turned to look at me, I saw lines of pain around his eyes. But it didn't stop him from studying me. "You're a good kid," he said, as if confirming a previous conclusion. "My family's lucky to have you."

His voice sounded hoarse, and I gave him a hug like he was my own dad.

Somehow, we got back to work. Rain tapped softly on the window while the dregs in my coffee cup cooled and dried.

"What about this one?" Max asked. We were staring at scraps of paper that the computer had matched together. "Is it me, or does this page have way too much white space?"

He was right: long vertical shreds, with text at the top but not the bottom. I leaned close to my screen, then magnified the very end of the shred. A few symbols _were _printed there, at the margin.

"Why is there text way down there, but not in the middle?" Max asked.

"I don't… No, wait. I know what this is. It's an email, or some other internet page. See, the bottom is where the URL is printed. Let me search the remaining shreds for this same pattern…"

I listened to my computer hum while it ran the recognition program. Soon more pieces appeared. Some dropped right into place; others I matched manually. Before long, only a few strips were still blank. As my eyes skimmed over the sheet, I realized what I was seeing.

"This could be… this looks like part of an email from Pelant to the kidnapper! Wolf probably wasn't supposed to print anything, so he shredded it—"

"Do we have the rest?" Max was glaring at the list of unmatched bits. "There aren't enough pieces here. Or they're just bank statements."

I selected that part of my screen. "I know I scanned every fragment that they brought from Wolf's apartment, so unless… Here! This might be one more page."

I handed Max the other control pad. "You try to finish the first page while I start on the second."

We worked in intense silence for a few minutes. My eyes felt like they had superpowers, by how they flew over the page as the text slowly came clear.

"I think I've got it." Max showed me his nearly-complete message. A few gaps still marred the paper, but we could read it.

We were looking at the final lines of an email. It said,_ then you'll get the rest of the money as we agreed. -C.P._

"Pelant used his real initials?" Max snorted. "Smart."

I ignored him, because I was studying the string of data at the top and bottom margins. "Sometimes the information from the sender and recipient is embedded in that page's URL. Look." I pointed to one section.

Max read the only part of the symbols that made sense to him. "_No sender?_"

I nodded. "That tells me it's Pelant. He's using the same enhanced security that he used when corresponding with Pesovic, so that even the recipient can't see his email address."

"But those were planted messages, to trick us."

"But they were also in her account, not printed out and then shredded. Either way, I know what Pelant's online signatures look like. Or should I say, his lack of signatures. This has to be from him."

"All right… What about the second page?"

I called it up. "This one's not an email… It's from Mapquest. Do you think… Oh, my God. Would Wolf actually print directions to—wherever they're holding Christine?"

Max stared grimly at the screen. "If he did, he took them with him. This is only the last page."

My heart sank. He was right. "Okay, but wait. Let's see what we have here. It should say—it doesn't. The total mileage for the trip, that must've been on the previous page."

In fact, the only line printed here was the last fragment of directions. It read, _on the left, 0.08 miles._

Real helpful.

But then something sprang out at me from the data along the top, where it identified the web search Wolf had done.

_Driving directions from 839 Davenport…_

I jabbed my finger at the screen. "That's the babysitter's apartment!"

"Going to where?"

"To, to—"

The destination was cut off.

The line ran too far to fit on an eight-by-eleven piece of paper. All we had, in the far corner of the page, was the building number, 317.

Was that a house, an apartment, an office? Was it the whole number or just part of it?

I took a step back, leaning on a chair. "We… we can still…" I felt like I was trying to move through mud. Cold and heavy, pulling me down. "We can still do a search for all the locations with that address, and see if any of them…"

"Assuming it really is the address." Max was looking at the screen, not at me. "How many possibilities do you think it'll be?"

His tone told me he already knew the answer. "Too many. But look," I fumbled. "Wolf shredded this stuff, right? So he didn't want anyone to find it. I think… Even if it's a long shot, I think we should tell Booth."

-.-.-

Two hours later, we had a breakthrough. And everything happened very fast.

I found myself in the back of an SUV, speeding through the city in the spitting rain.

Booth sat in the passenger seat while Brennan drove, more aggressively than I'd have thought possible. Sweets was with me in the back, on our way to the place—we were reasonably sure—where Pelant was holding Christine.

Max and Hodgins followed, in one of his fastest cars.

I realized we hadn't even alerted the FBI to our actions. They had a couple big pieces of the puzzle, yes. But we'd found the location and mobilized with no time to waste.

.

Once I'd told Booth about the partial address, he and Sweets returned to the lab. Hodgins and Brennan came too. They hunkered down with microscopes to analyze particulates from the car, while the Bureau ran parallel tests.

The rest of us organized internet data. Sweets had pulled the most promising leads from our social media search: people calling in with sightings of the suspects. Booth and his colleagues had questioned the witnesses by phone, deciding whether the tips were legitimate.

Whenever we had something, we'd plot it on the big map now displayed on my screen. I'd started with about a million addresses that began _317. _Luckily I could narrow the search with stats from the rental car's odometer. Based on that mileage, the car had either made a bunch of short trips within the city, or a couple longer trips outside it. If we assumed an out-and-back journey, the destination had to be less than fifty miles away.

.

It was forty, in fact.

I shifted in my seat, listening to the wail of the siren. Booth had flipped it on to get us out of the city faster. Wouldn't you know, it was rush hour.

Brennan rounded a corner, and accelerated so hard I was pushed back against the seat.

Booth seemed calm, except for a muscle pulsing in his jaw.

Sweets was twitchy, bouncing his leg with impatience. He tugged periodically at the seatbelt strap and checked the gun at his hip.

Brennan stayed still and focused. If I caught her eye in the rearview mirror, she barely held it a second. Then she looked back at the road, or at Booth. If she'd been able to meet my eyes long enough, I wondered what else I would see. As it was, she tamped down her emotions with fierce control.

No distractions. We were on a mission.

.

"We've got something." Hodgins stepped through my door and then turned back, expecting us to follow.

"Hey, hold up," Booth yelled. "Walking wounded, remember? You tell me in here."

Jack motioned at Brennan across the lab and she came sweeping into my office. "Asphalt and chicken feces," she announced.

"Uh, Bones…"

"Particulates in the tires," Hodgins explained. "See, after we sifted through the usual city and suburban stuff, we found two things: road construction materials and chicken excrement."

"Then we analyzed the configuration of minerals in the asphalt," Brennan continued, "and it seems to be used solely for patching potholes. That means the car must have been driving over a road that was recently repaired."

I started opening applications on my screen. The city kept detailed records of projects like that…

"And," Hodgins said, "keeping chickens isn't really common in metro areas, so we're probably looking at the outer edge of our search radius."

"What's more, many states including Maryland require people to get a permit if they want to keep chickens. We can search for every location with domestic poultry that's also near a street that was recently patched."

I could feel the excitement rising in the room. But Booth asked, "How do you know the two places will be next to each other?"

Hodgins nodded like he'd had the same question. "The asphalt particles and chicken feces made a kind of sandwich in the tires—"

"We found one layer of asphalt in between two layers of excrement. That would suggest the car was driven past an area with chickens, over freshly patched roads, and then back in the opposite direction."

"Bones, you're a genius." Booth squeezed her hand before turning to me. "Get that search going."

"Already on it, G-man."

With Brennan, Booth, Max and Hodgins flanking me on either side, I narrated as I worked.

"Okay, so all these yellow flags are places with a 317 address. Now I'll add what we pulled from State Highway Administration…" Crews had been busy patching roads in the last two weeks, corresponding with the first nice spring weather. I flagged those sites in blue, but there were still a lot. "Now if we factor in places with permits to keep chickens…"

While I scrolled through databases, Sweets and Clark appeared in the doorway. Clark looked well-dressed as usual, in a lab coat and tie. Sweets had a five o'clock shadow and no tie. "We've got something you guys should see."

Clark held up his phone. "An old girlfriend of mine called in a tip. She was on a road trip, and yesterday afternoon she saw a man matching Wolf's description at a gas station convenience store."

"I just talked to her," Sweets said, "and questioned her in detail. This really seems legitimate."

"Why didn't she call it in yesterday?" Booth demanded.

"Didn't have internet access until now," Clark said. "She only just saw our posting on Twitter."

"But the reason she remembered this guy was because of the odd combination of stuff he was buying," Sweets said. "She was behind him in line at the register, and he asked for cigarettes from behind the counter"

"That does fit with Wolf," Hodgins said. "His apartment stank."

Sweets nodded. "He was getting some everyday items, but what stuck out to her was that he bought goldfish crackers, and applesauce in those single-serve cups."

"Something you'd buy for a child," Max observed.

I said, "Tell me where this store is." When Sweets did, I flagged it in red on my map. But I was still tracking down the poultry-registration info…

Booth grilled Clark on the details. Brennan kept silent, watching over my shoulder as I worked. When I caught her eye, it looked like she was seeing something far away. She said, "I only give Christine organic applesauce." It was just a murmur, like she wouldn't let herself hope.

I tried to smile, fanning that hope. "And every kid likes goldfish crackers, right?"

Booth had overheard us. "Hey, Bones." I realized the room had gone quiet. Leaning on his crutches, he touched her arm. "If this is them… At least they're feeding her, organic or not. She's being cared for."

Brennan started to respond, when Booth's phone rang.

It startled me, and I tried to concentrate on my task. _Come on, _I muttered to myself. _How many poultry-permits can there be? Find the Department of Agriculture… Click 'premises registration'… Cross-reference it with satellite maps of Maryland…_

I blocked out the conversation until Booth hung up. When he did, he was buzzing with dangerous energy. "The FBI just got a tip. Someone matching Wolf's description was spotted at a public library a few minutes ago, wearing a hat pulled down low, and it looked like he was messaging someone on a laptop. They're bringing him in now. As long as it's really him—and he doesn't get spooked—we'll have him in interrogation in thirty minutes."

"Then," Max growled, "we'll get the location out of him."

"But why would Wolf be hanging around?" Sweets asked. "Does Pelant have some other scheme he needs help with?"

"Or Pelant is done with him and cut him loose. The guy could be waiting for his money, doesn't know how to lay low and avoid detection. Bones, you coming? We'll get answers out of this—"

"Wait." Bren was staring at my screen. "We might not need him."

I had input the last variable, and now a green flag bristled from the map. It formed a tight cluster with all the other colors: red, yellow, blue. The only spot where they all converged.

"I have the location."

-.-.-

**AN:** This chapter introduced a lot of plot, but I hope the emotion comes through as well. How have I been doing with that throughout the story; is it affecting you? (I must ask, because reviewers have been rather reserved! :).


	7. Sweets' theories

**AN: **Warning: This is still not the climax of the story. Sorry if I leave you hanging, but next chapter is the one you're probably waiting for.

I tried to post this earlier but it didn't seem to work!

Thank you to jsq for the beta read.

Also: I set this story in the spring and Christine's birthday is coming up, but should it be a winter birthday? The Bones timeline seems all screwed up by the hiatus and Emily's real-life pregnancy, so I'm not overly concerned with canon calendars.

**Part 7: Sweets' theories**

Brennan turned off the siren once we'd bypassed the worst traffic. Speeding along the rain-wet highway, we heard only the squeak and swish of the windshield wipers.

My eyes kept returning to the digital clock on the dashboard. It had been just over forty-eight hours since Christine was taken.

Now Booth pulled out his phone to tell the FBI our plans. They had their own mission: taking Wolf into custody and questioning him. But because their techs weren't as fast as Bren and Hodgins, they hadn't found the asphalt and chicken clues.

"Cam, it's Booth. We've got the location." What he didn't say, but she surely understood was, _I'm calling you because you can't order me to stand down and wait for back up._ He gave her the address so she could relay it. They exchanged a few more words, and before she hung up she must have told him, _Good luck._

"Listen, guys." Sweets leaned forward. "I think Pelant will be there, with Christine."

"That's what we're counting on," Booth said darkly.

"It's true we're operating under a lot of assumptions," Brennan added, "but the evidence was convincing. Enough of the variables converged for me to—"

"Yeah, no, I'm not doubting the integrity of the evidence. I think you're right: Pelant wasn't expecting us to find the car, or get the location from it."

"There's a chance he won't be there," Booth said. "Or he'll have moved Christine."

"I think he'll be there," Sweets insisted. "I'm trying to offer psychological insight here. I mean, Pelant wants this confrontation. I don't think it's a trap, at least not like the first time around, when he locked us in the building."

"Well, that's good," I said dryly. "But what are you saying, that he wants to get something out of this?"

"Possibly, yeah. Over the last two days, I've basically locked myself in my office, studying everything we have on him. And from what I can tell, he wants some kind of final challenge. Think about it: that rush you get from cracking cases and catching criminals? Pelant gets it from committing crimes. He gets a thrill from murder and elaborate schemes—"

"We don't have time for this," Booth said. "Just give me the bottom line, Sweets." Actually, we did have time. We were only about halfway through the drive, even at the breakneck speed Brennan was setting. What Booth meant was he didn't have the patience.

"Okay, well…" Sweets sounded hurt. "I don't think he'll be armed and dangerous, that's never been his style. He's a trickster, not a fighter. But we should be on guard for some other scheme. He might have another plot in place."

"Like what?" I asked reluctantly. By the look Sweets gave me, he could imagine plots as well as I could.

Brennan glanced at Booth, shifting her grip on the steering wheel. "Once Christine is safe, then we'll worry about _why_. But not before."

"Hey," I said softly. "You want to tell _me _your theories?" It seemed like Sweets' way of coping, to put on a professional hat and work through the findings. He looked grateful, so I called, "Don't mind us, okay? We'll just talk quietly back here."

Sweets nodded, leaning toward me and lowering his voice. "So, Pelant… For various reasons, he's picked Dr. Brennan, your whole team, as his adversaries. He nearly lost the last round, but still got away. He wants a re-match, and this time he's upped the stakes. Sabotaging the car and causing Booth's accident, abducting Christine… He wants us to come after him. He did the one thing he knew would unleash the most dramatic kind of response."

"Dramatic, meaning we all want to kill him."

Sweets was caught up in his theories. "Pelant… he's not a sociopath in terms of lacking all emotion. But he is a serial killer lacking empathy. I've been going over the information we had on him starting in high school, and I think that a part of his psyche is still stuck in that timeframe. It's a key facet of his personality: he's the loner, the computer nerd who outwardly disdains the popular crowd while secretly craving acceptance from them."

"And _we're_ the popular crowd?"

"In his eyes, yes. He sees you, a group of very smart people about his age, doing great things with science and technology. It's like, he could have been one of you, if…"

"If he hadn't turned to a life of murder and mayhem before he even started college."

Sweets shrugged in acknowledgment. "Another key part of his personality is fueled by that need for recognition. He sees himself as this crusader against misguided, unintelligent authority. He strives to reveal flaws by breaking into supposedly secure government databases…"

His words reminded me of the ghost-like traces I'd come across, during those months of trying to track Pelant's activities. "Based on different usernames or signatures that I saw in chat rooms… there was nothing we could tie directly to him, but it looks like he might have had followers online. At least before he fled the country."

"There's definitely evidence of different hackers trying to either out-do each other, or sometimes rooting for their comrades to prevail. And whether we're talking the government, the media, or our team at the Jeffersonian," Sweets went on, "I think Pelant is fascinated by emotion. He wants to witness it, to provoke it. He wants it directed at him, especially intense emotion. And, if he's not going to win acceptance in a peer group or be praised for his actions—"

"Because they're crimes!"

"…then he'll be satisfied by negative attention just as well."

"Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, huh?"

"Exactly. They're both passions, separated by a thin line. They create a connection between people, even an intimacy. I think Pelant is seeking out that intimacy."

I looked at the rain-streaked windshield between Booth and Brennan. They either couldn't hear, or were just ignoring us. "Even if it means we want to kill him?"

Sweets touched the gun at his hip. "Even if."


	8. Showdown

**AN: **Thank you to the following people: jsq for giving feedback; real-life friends J. for reading, and D. for helping me chew over plot ideas while we were out hiking.

Posting schedule update: This story is complete, with 12 chapters. Still, I would like to polish the last chapter and consult with betas. Therefore I might change to posting once rather than twice a week, at least temporarily. This section is nice and long so I think it will get you through. :)

**Part 8: Showdown**

The rain clouds had almost cleared by the time we got close. I watched for landmarks: first the gas station where Wolf had been sighted, then just five miles more to our destination.

City buildings and suburban sprawl had both thinned out. Even with less traffic, Brennan was forced to slow down so we didn't miss any turns. We passed a rambling house shaded by trees. I saw small wooden structures clustered to one side of it, and—

"Chickens," Sweets said. The fenced yard went right up to the road, where a few chickens were pecking in the dust.

A short distance later we drove over a street patched with fresh black asphalt.

No one said anything. Booth glanced at Brennan, and they nodded in grim satisfaction.

When we approached our final turn, it looked just as I'd expected from my map. A cul-de-sac with a construction site at the far end. Wood frames of new houses jutted from the mud like skeletons. I could see backhoes or other machines on the fringes, but no one was currently working.

Halfway down the road were two buildings, 3171 on one side and 3174 across from it.

Brennan parked near the corner, partly hidden by a fence of trees. We all stared down the street at the identical apartment buildings. They were small, three stories, with maybe two units per floor. One had a car parked outside. The other didn't.

"Is it that easy?" Sweets asked.

"The directions from the shredder said _on the left_," I reminded him. "That _is_ where the car is parked."

Brennan had jumped out of the SUV, and everyone followed her lead. As Booth levered himself out, Sweets looked him up and down. "You're coming along?"

"Of course I'm coming along. I'm the cop, remember? It's my kid in there."

Bren moved next to Booth. Over the roof of the car, I saw the resolute look on her face. She spoke in a low tone, just for him.

"Booth, listen to me. You won't be maneuverable on crutches, and if you put weight on that leg, you could do permanent damage. Please, stay here. I will do everything I can to get Christine back safely. Whatever it takes."

He didn't answer right away. "I know you will. That's the part that worries me."

I was dying to look at their faces, but I didn't. I kept my eyes on the ground.

After a second, Brennan stepped back, and Booth cleared his throat. "Okay, listen up."

Hodgins had just pulled in behind us. He and Max hopped out to join the huddle, so we all stood on one side of the car, screened by the line of trees.

"Sweets, you're Brennan's backup," Booth ordered. "You help her take down the criminals, whether it's just one, or all three of them there. Max, I want you at the back entrance of the apartment. Make sure no one can slip out. Angela." Booth pinned me with his gaze. "Your job is to get Christine out of there. Take her straight to me no matter what. If anything goes wrong, don't hesitate. Just get her and run."

I nodded, twisting my cold and clammy hands together.

"More cops will be here in twenty minutes, but we're not waiting." Booth drew a gun from his jacket and gave it to Brennan. I saw another at his hip for himself. "Hodgins, you'll stay here with me. If the rest of you aren't out in ten, we're coming after you. And Pelant…"

Brennan checked her gun's cartridge and slid it back into place with a click. "Leave him to me."

"Bones." This time Booth was the one lowering his voice. "I'm not gonna argue with that. But you let Sweets be the first one through the doors, do you understand me?"

If I'd thought she would object, I was wrong. She simply nodded. After all, Booth had just been in a horrible car crash. Brennan knew all about fearing for her partner's life.

Now she held the weapon comfortably at her side, keeping her body angled so she could see the apartment through the trees. She seemed composed, but when I took a closer look I could swear her body was humming. Coiled energy like an electric fence, just waiting to be released.

Sweets, next to me, patted his Bureau-issued weapon, but he looked less nervous than I felt. A year or so ago, I could see him trying to joke: _Oh, sure. Send the kid psychologist first to trigger all the booby traps_. Now he stayed silent, exchanging a long, manly look with Booth.

Max had also produced a gun. No one asked him where he'd gotten it.

Like Brennan, he looked determined and ready for action. I didn't usually see much resemblance between them, but I saw it now: their faces set with an implacable, deadly calm.

Suddenly it was time to move. Hodgins gave me a bruising kiss, and we were off. Brennan and Sweets ahead of me, Max behind. My legs trembled with nerves as we left the cover of trees and trotted down the sidewalk.

The setting sun streaked the road with bloody shadows. I could smell rain-wet pavement and new grass. A few flowers bloomed bravely by the side of the road, and I welcomed their scent in my nose, after the rankness of the chicken farm.

As we reached the side of the apartment, I noticed a security camera mounted on the corner.

Brennan had already seen it, but Sweets was the one who commented. "It won't be a surprise that we're here."

Max peeled off to guard the back as Booth had instructed. The rest of us went around front.

The main door was unlocked. Sweets headed for the stairs and did a quick sweep of each level: no sign of anyone, and the apartment doors were locked. Except for the top floor.

I came puffing up the stairs behind Brennan, until she stopped right in front of me.

Pelant was waiting for us.

He stood in the hall near the elevator, smirking. Brennan and Sweets fanned out in front of me, guns pointed.

"Where is she?" Bren demanded.

Pelant didn't answer, but he cocked his head slightly as if indicating the apartment door behind him. Brennan took a step forward. She looked ready to shoot Pelant, or at least shove past him, but Sweets held out a hand for her to wait. There was still the chance of booby traps.

In the midst of the stand-off, I noticed a window at the end of the hall. It glowed sunset orange, backlighting Pelant's face and creating unnatural shadows.

By the way he gazed at us, especially Brennan, I could believe what Sweets had said: how he craved emotion. Though we'd come across a lot of criminals, Pelant still made my skin crawl. His eyes were arrogant, his lips parted in eagerness.

_If we go in there, _I thought, _and we find Christine hurt, or find her dead, I swear to God, I will kill him myself._

"I didn't expect you so soon," he was saying. "How did you find me?"

Brennan took another step forward, but just then, the apartment door opened. A woman stuck her head out. It was Pesovic, the one who'd pretended to be a social worker.

"It's all right," she said curtly. "You can go in."

"I told you to stay there and be quiet!" Pelant sounded petulant, like a little kid whose friends won't play by his rules.

"_You _said they wouldn't find us," she retorted. "The deal was—"

That was all the farther she got, because Brennan shouldered past both of them and into the apartment. Sweets followed, yelling at Pelant to get back inside. "Both of you, up against the wall! Don't move."

They did what he said, and I slipped through the door after him. A quick glance showed me a living room with barely any furniture. There was a kitchen to the left and a hallway to the right.

In the corner of this room was a little square defined by a child fence. Inside it, a couple toys, pillows—and Christine.

Brennan was already leaning down to pick her up, after stuffing the gun in a pocket. I saw Christine's arms stretching up, then wrapping around her mother's neck. She started to cry, while Brennan murmured to her. I couldn't hear, but I knew the gist. _You're safe, sweetheart. It's all right. I'm here now._

Knowing what Booth had told me, I crossed the room. "Is she okay? Should I take her?"

"If you do, I need you to come right back." Brennan jerked her chin and I looked across the room. I hadn't noticed, but another video camera was mounted on the wall. It was tiny, barely more than a tube with wires, and a red recording light on top.

Sweets still held the criminals against the door. Now he told them they were under arrest, and I wished he had two pairs of handcuffs. Maybe a straightjacket, or a ball and chain.

Brennan turned to face them. "Sweets, take Pesovic into custody. Get her down to the car." She looked at me. "Take Christine to Booth and then come right back."

She started to hand over her daughter. Christine knew me; I was her aunt Angela. But there was no way she wanted to let go right now. As I reached to take her, she realized what was happening and clung to her mom's jacket. I had to pry her little fingers away. Even when I had her, Christine leaned her whole weight away from me, reaching back into the empty space between us. I had to hold on tight so she didn't fall.

"Shh, baby," I said to stop her from wailing. "I'll take you to your daddy. Let's go see him, okay?"

"Daddy?" Her voice was so tremulous I wanted to cry myself.

"Yeah, he's here. And your grandpa."

That's what I could do: take her to Max, so I could get back faster.

Pelant had turned toward Brennan, but stayed close to the wall. I didn't want to leave her alone with him, even if that's what she seemed to want.

I knew Sweets agreed with me. The two of us paused at the door, him pushing Pesovic ahead of him, me cradling Christine.

Brennan's gun was in her hand. "_Go_," she said.

"I'll be right back," I told her.

We stomped down the stairs and out the main door. Sweets headed toward the parked cars while I circled around to meet Max. He put his gun away, saying he hadn't seen a sign of anyone, and then he opened his arms to wrap Christine in a hug. She was smiling and crying at the same time.

When I turned to go back up, he stopped me. "I'll go. I know some things about not leaving evidence. And I don't want Pelant getting out of there alive."

"But he's got another video camera, and who knows what else. I've got to check it out. Sorry, technology's not your strong suit. You said it yourself."

He looked ready to curse, but didn't in front of Christine. "All right. I'll take her to Booth. You be careful. Make sure Tempe doesn't do anything I wouldn't do."

That, I thought, was not very reassuring.

I ran back up the stairs.

Brennan held Pelant at gun point. She stood in the middle of the room, while he blocked the hallway at the right.

I walked warily over until I was next to her.

"Ange. That camera first, please." She didn't say _disable it_, but I knew that's what she meant. We had to be aware of how this all looked. Pelant had rigged video footage before, to incriminate her. We didn't want to give him anything else.

I circled behind her and went to the wall-mounted camera. I could just barely reach it, standing on my toes. I yanked its power and AV wires from the back, watching the red light on top go dark.

"It's not transmitting anymore," I reported.

"Now the rest of the apartment."

I ducked into the kitchen for a quick sweep. Cameras, wires… what the hell was I looking for? Everything seemed normal. When I came out, Pelant still blocked the hallway to the rest of the place. Brennan twitched her gun at him. "Move."

He didn't. He smiled that slow, disgusting smile. "Are you going to make me?"

"No, but I am." Before I could think what I was doing, I marched over to Pelant. I grabbed his ear and twisted. His mouth opened and his eyes screwed shut. He turned his head, trying to reduce the pain on his ear, and I dragged him easily across the room. When we reached the opposite corner under the now-dead camera, I said, "There. Stay."

I circled around again, careful to stay out of Brennan's line of fire. Tripping down the hallway, I found a bathroom and two bedrooms. One held a suitcase of Pesovic's things. The other held a table with Pelant's laptop.

I tapped the keyboard and the screen woke up. No password to enter, at least. An image appeared: a frozen close-up of my face as I'd disconnected the camera. That's where the video feed had been going, right here.

My heart started to pound again. The anxiety squeezing my guts—it had let up once we actually found Christine. But now…

The only active programs were for recording security footage. I glanced at the feed from the outdoor one, then started searching.

And I called down the hall to Brennan. "I've got his laptop and I'm checking it now. It might take me a few minutes…"

"That's fine. You don't need to rush." I heard the floor creak like she'd braced her feet, settling into the stand-off. "Now. I want to know _why_. Why are you targeting my family?"

"Because I can," Pelant said. "It's a challenge. A game, Dr. Brennan. Not as much fun unless the stakes are high."

"A game." Her voice was brittle. "What do you get out of this _game_?"

I didn't register his response, because I was too busy scanning the list of programs and documents. _Come on, come on… How do I search if I don't know what to look for?_

I checked for anything encrypted, or any codes like the ones I knew to expect from him.

Wait, here. I opened his email without too much trouble, and scrolled through messages to the kidnappers.

Why did he leave his laptop for me to find? Or did he? He said we'd found him earlier than we expected…

From the other room, Pelant was saying something about the game. "…after the last round. You lost."

Brennan nearly laughed. "I haven't lost."

It sounded like she was seconds from shooting him, and I frowned harder at the computer screen.

What was this? Lots of embedded data in his media controls… It would take some time to decipher, but I was pretty sure I'd seen it before. He'd designed this to modify a video feed. Just like the one last year, that showed Brennan leaving a psych facility right after Ethan Sawyer was killed.

I opened the program, and saw another frozen image of the apartment. Certain parts were outlined: the time stamp, the front door, the corner where Christine had been held. Those were areas Pelant could manipulate, to show things that weren't true.

Was he trying to frame Brennan again? He could use today's footage to show her shooting him in cold blood. Or even, to show that Christine was never here. That we somehow manufactured the whole kidnapping scheme, just to blame and then kill Pelant.

Was that his endgame, to hurt us even if he was dead?

No. I stared hard at the file size and complexity. The codes, the pixels in the image…

I didn't think he'd finished it. Even if he had, this computer was evidence. He was too late. He couldn't get away with it now.

I stood up, but didn't leave until I'd checked the hard drive again, for data backups or some kind of self-destruct mode. Just what we needed was for everything to blow up as soon as I punched the last key.

When I was satisfied—as much as I could be in a time crunch—I went back down the hall.

Pelant was still talking. Had Sweets been right: he wanted to be one of us? "…more of a genius than any of you. Why not choose me for your computer expert, instead of some artist? I could do anything you needed. Anything you wanted."

"You're a _murderer_."

"I'm a protestor. Against a government that lies to its citizens, telling them they're secure, that they're free. Against narrow-minded pedants like you, who only care about people who think the exact same way, who believe there's only one kind of justice—"

"Stop. Spare me the psycho-speech."

I rounded the corner and saw Pelant's face. His surprise was almost funny. "But you asked me why."

"I changed my mind. Angela." She'd heard me come back. "What did you find?"

Quickly I told her, watching Pelant. Was that disappointment? Was he trying to look superior, even when he knew he was beaten?

"Yeah, I found your programs," I told him. "You're not getting away with anything."

His lip curled and he started to respond.

"_Quiet_," Brennan snapped.

"I can't be positive," I concluded. "But whatever he was doing, he didn't have time to finish it."

"Thank you, Angela. I need you to leave now."

"You—what?"

"Go back to Booth and stay there."

"No way, Brennan. I—"

"Angela. You need to leave." She hadn't moved, hadn't even glanced at me. From where I stood, I saw her in profile, holding the gun steady in both hands. Her face looked drawn from lack of sleep, but she was completely vigilant.

_She wants me to leave so she can kill him, without implicating anyone._

Across the room, Pelant kept silent, as if transfixed.

"Angela, please go now."

I didn't know what else to do. "Okay. I'm going." I sidled behind her to the door. Closing it all but a crack, I started down the stairs. Then I stopped. _What the hell am I doing? I'm not leaving her, not now._

Rather than bust in and get myself shot, I crept back to the door. They were talking again; maybe Pelant was trying to stall her.

"…how I sabotaged your car?"

"Yes. We found that device on the brake line."

He sounded proud. "I'm branching out, you know. It's a newer car, so I could have tapped into its computer. I could have slammed on the brakes at high speed. But I decided to go more hands-on. I know this mechanic…"

"The FBI arrested him before he got very far. I hear he's going to make a deal. Blaming you for everything."

Pelant seemed to ignore that. "Did you find the GPS locator? It told me where you, or rather Booth, was going at all times, and how fast. I had a great show on my laptop, although I had to be patient. I just watched that little flashing light moving through a map of the city. You didn't drive on the highway much, did you? I had to wait a couple days. But then Booth took it out. I was watching his every move. I saw him accelerate, and I simply waited until he was going at maximum speed. That's when I flipped the switch. Just like—"

"Keep your hands where I can see them!"

God, what was he doing?

"Relax, Dr. Brennan. Did you think I had a gun?" He must have taken something from his pocket. "This is a remote control device, exactly like the one I used before. It sends a specific radio frequency to a sensor. In that case, it released a corrosive chemical that ate through the brake line. The car Booth was driving—I watched that icon on my screen careening out of control. It came to a very abrupt stop, didn't it?"

"You didn't kill him." Brennan's voice shook. "He's going to be fine."

"Is he? Well, even so. I'm glad it was him. I'm glad _you're _the one who came to see me today. I find you much more interesting."

_Came to see me? Interesting? _It sounded like he was having a tea party. Or he was studying her. He really did take pleasure in her pain. Just like the pleasure I'd taken in his, when I pulled his ear.

"I'm finished providing _entertainment _for you." Her voice was steel. "You've failed. You've made too many mistakes."

"Don't you want to know what I can do with _this_?" I imagined him caressing the device in his hand. He probably meant his voice to sound confident. But it didn't; it wavered.

_He's getting desperate. _

He wouldn't have had time to rig some other trap, would he? Not with all the plots he'd already engaged in. Could he have sabotaged another vehicle? No, the FBI had checked all our cars, and houses, thoroughly.

_I think he's bluffing, Brennan. It's a last-ditch effort to seize control._

Unless. Unless he had something hidden in this apartment. Like a bomb in the bathroom and I hadn't seen it…

But Brennan was smart. She would be thinking, there's no evidence for another plot. Our team, and the Bureau, we've checked everything. Even if we don't have all the pieces, even if Pelant felt cornered and raised the stakes—the fake ID's we discovered, the cyber trail, financial records—none of those hinted at new crimes.

_He has to be bluffing._

But I needed to see his face. I needed to go in and tell her.

My hand stretched out toward the door as if to touch Brennan and lend her support.

"My dad was right about you," she said. "You can't cut it in the real world. You've taken on more than you can handle, this time."

"You mean _you_?"

"I mean all of us. I mean recruiting two people who are free agents, not computer programs. Pesovic just betrayed you to cooperate with us. Wolf printed out the directions that led us here. And you've made mistakes. You abandoned the rental car. You forgot about the security footage from Teresa's apartment—"

"No, I thought of everything! I just needed more time—"

She laughed, a sharp, humorless sound.

"You don't know anything about me." Pelant's voice rose. "If I push this button, you'll be sorry. You won't—"

"I'm willing to take that risk."

Two gunshots cracked the air in quick succession. I jumped, putting my hands over my ears, but it was already over.

I crouched there, panting, and then I barged through the door.

Brennan stood over Pelant. He lay on the carpet, a small device near his hand. She'd hit him in the chest, but he was breathing. His eyes stared at the ceiling while blood stained the front of his shirt.

She watched him die.

I saw, too: how his breathing struggled and faltered. How the seeping blood slowed. How his eyes searched for something and then went still.

Brennan had advanced until she stood directly over him. She kept the gun pointed at his head.

The tension she'd held under tight wraps until now —it was taking its toll. I saw her shaking. But it didn't look like exhaustion. It looked like fury.

With her toe, she nudged the device clear of Pelant's palm. She took one hand off the gun and lowered it to her side. I saw her shift, as if to raise one foot. Her body quivered. Her shoulders lifted in a quick breath, and I knew that the next second, she was going to bring her heel smashing down on Pelant's face, over and over and—

"Brennan!"

She froze.

Slowly, she turned to face me. Her eyes blazed. Her skin looked flushed and feverish, but that could've been the last light of sunset flooding the room.

"Did, um…" I fumbled for something to distract her from her murderous rage (even if she'd earned it). "Did he push the button? The control thing?"

She shook her head. Before I could do anything, we heard footsteps. Max burst into the room, breathing heavily.

He took in the scene. Then he went to stand next to Brennan, and they looked down at Pelant's body.

"Good," Max said. He took the gun from her with one hand, and hugged her hard around the shoulders with the other. "Good girl."

-.-.

Brennan ran all the way back to the car. I ran too, but couldn't keep up. Max followed at a more reasonable pace.

I jogged down the sidewalk, past the spring flowers. The sky had faded to pink and periwinkle.

I saw Brennan round the copse of trees. She threw herself into the back of the car, where Booth sat with Christine.

As I reached the bushes, I could hear them talking.

"He's dead," Bren said, still out of breath. "I shot him."

"God, Bones. I'm glad. Are you all right?"

They murmured to each other in the shadowy interior. I leaned on the car's hood, my legs rubbery.

I watched them hold each other, and their daughter. Christine cried a little, and Booth did too, but I couldn't tell about Brennan.

Then Hodgins was there, gathering me in a hug. He smelled like sweat and aftershave and safety. I squeezed back, burying my face in his neck.


	9. Examination and guitars

Disclaimer—which I seem to have forgotten before now, oops—Not my characters. No money made (though I could use some).

Content warning for this chapter: suspicion of child abuse.

**AN:** Thanks to tempertemper for serving as my early-childhood expert, and to the wonderful jsq for beta reading.

The little-boy-guitar-story is real. My boss told it to me about her son. Don't you love inappropriate stories at the workplace?

**Part 9: Examination and guitars**

We were stuck at the scene for about an hour while the FBI canvassed the apartment. They took Pelant's laptop to analyze whatever scheme he'd started; and while they found no sign of a bomb, they couldn't confirm that the remote trigger had been a bluff.

"It seems like the type you'd use to set off a small explosive," I heard one of them tell Booth. "The techs will dismantle it to be sure."

Then they took our statements. That caused me some worry, but no one pressed us for a lot of detail. The agents had their hands full wrapping up the case, while Booth and Brennan were too anxious to get their daughter home.

Once we were cleared to leave, they took off, Max driving so Christine could be with both her parents in the back. Sweets rode with me and Hodgins. Although we wanted to help, to make sure our friends were all right, we didn't want to impose.

Brennan decided for us when we arrived at her door. "Angela, if you could stay for a little while?"

"Um, Dr. Brennan," Sweets began. I knew he wanted to lend his services and determine what Christine had been through.

Brennan just shook her head at him. "Tomorrow."

-.-.-

It was a couple of hours before I got home. My dad met me in the foyer.

"Hey, baby girl. I hear you played quite a role today, taking down whatever spy equipment that man had set up."

"It wasn't that big a role." I hugged him, then hung up my jacket. "Is Michael still awake?"

"Yeah, we let him stay up so he could see you. He's just getting out of the bathtub. We got pretty dirty at the park today. Well…" He reached for his own coat. "I should get home. You'll tell me all about your adventures?"

"I will, Dad. Later."

He kissed me goodnight, and I locked the door behind him.

Upstairs, I found Hodgins searching the linen closet. Michael stood at the bathroom door wrapped in a towel. I bent down to give him a big hug and kiss, then ruffled his wet hair.

"Hey," Hodgins said. "How are Booth and Brennan holding up?"

I sighed. "They're okay. Christine seems all right, but she wouldn't sleep unless one of them was with her."

Michael started to ask if Christine could come to the park with him next time, but I had to put him off and help Hodgins.  
"Where the heck is the lotion?" he was saying. "We need a new bottle and I thought there was one in here…"

I went over and peered in the closet. "Oh, I moved it to the other shelf, to make room for your favorite shampoo that was on sale. Here."

When I turned back to Michael, he had dropped his towel on the floor. Totally naked, he started dancing around the hallway, humming to himself. He strummed one hand over his crotch and sang, "I'm playing guitar… on my peener…"

Hodgins, next to me, snickered. He looked downright proud.

I watched with my mouth hanging open. "Did you teach him that? Did my _dad_?"

"Nope. He came up with it all by himself." Then he saw my expression. "Hey, give him a break. This is about the age where, you know, boys have to discover their penis. Don't ruin the moment."

"Ruin the moment, huh?" Michael continued to dance, shaking his little butt. "Yeah, I've heard stories about raising boys. But I never really saw it until now."

Hodgins grinned. "God, I love being a dad."

"Okay, little guitar hero," I told Michael. "Maybe tomorrow you could show me how you play your _actual _guitar. Now come over here and get some lotion. We don't want you getting dry and scaly like an alligator."

-.-.

Once our son was asleep, Hodgins and I sat on the sofa with glasses of wine. We'd been silly with Michael, and that felt really good. But now I had to talk about the last couple hours.

"Christine just needed to go home and have a normal night," I began. "Not have Sweets hang around observing her. So…" I sipped my wine and curled myself tighter on the couch. Hodgins watched me with serious eyes. "When I went in, Booth was reading her a story in the living room. I helped Brennan put some food together and we all ate. Then…"

I felt myself starting to cry, now, when it was all over.

"They had to know… if she'd been hurt. And Booth couldn't do it. We didn't… no one actually said it out loud. Brennan just suggested that Christine have a nice warm bath before bed, and Booth…"

I remembered how he'd kissed his girl on the head and handed her to Brennan. He could barely look her in the eye. _I'm sorry, Bones. I don't think I can…_

"You could just tell, that if he saw any kind of mark on her, he would—"

Hodgins nodded, his brows low and fierce.

"Brennan understood. It's like, looking for evidence is always her job. She told him to go up and get ready for bed. Then she asked me if I would help, and the way she held my eyes, it was like asking, can you stand it. But of course I said yes. I figured she could use the support."

Hodgins reached out and patted my foot. "And did she…?"

"She didn't find anything."

He nodded, letting out a big breath of air.

"They'll probably see a pediatrician tomorrow, and some colleague of Sweets'. But for now…"

"Didn't they check her out before?" he asked. "I mean, before they left the scene?"

"Well, sort of. Bren changed her diaper in the backseat of the car. But the sun had gone down, and it was pretty shadowy in there. So… she had to be sure."

I told him more, then. How when Brennan was on the run, she got in the habit of bathing her daughter by the sink. Some motels didn't have tubs, only showers, so she'd sit Christine on the counter with her feet in the water. Bren would talk to her, with toys on hand, while giving her a sponge bath. "It was her way of establishing a routine," I told Hodgins, "or soothing Christine after a tough day. She said she kept doing it sometimes, once she was home. It was like a bonding ritual in some culture I've never heard of. Plus it conserved water. And Booth didn't have to stress his back bending over a tub."

I paused, while Jack sipped his wine. He rubbed the day-old beard prickles on his chin, waiting for me to continue.

If this were a painting, I told him the sketch. And I think he understood. But there were parts I couldn't say. And parts I was never going to forget.

I'd sat at the kitchen table and made myself useful folding laundry. That way, I was there if Brennan needed me. But I wasn't hovering over Christine.

I watched Brennan lift her daughter to the counter, cushioned with towels. She undressed her carefully, making a game of it. It's one I'd seen them play before. Brennan would touch or kiss her in sequence—shoulder, elbow, wrist—and tell her words for all the parts. Bones and muscles, layman's terms and scientific ones.

Sorting the clothes into piles, I folded them precisely. From the corner of my eye, I saw Brennan turn her child, examining her back. "Here is your right scapula," she said, touching it. "Here is your left scapula.…"

"Berry, Mama," Christine demanded.

Brennan obliged, leaning down to blow a raspberry on the girl's bare skin. Christine didn't laugh, but she smiled. "Again!"

I smiled too, thinking what a lovely kid she was. She'd inherited Brennan's creamy skin, and her hair had darkened to brown with honey highlights. I wondered how long it would be before boys, including Michael, started to notice.

Brennan finished undressing her, and I kept folding. The only sound in the kitchen was running water, filling the sink with warm bubbles.

I picked up a pair of Booth's boxers. He would probably kill me if I told Hodgins what kind of prints he favored…

Brennan continued her gentle catalogue. "Left ankle, left knee, left hip…" She didn't label everything for Christine. But she was very, very thorough. The child never flinched.

In fact, she was in good spirits when Brennan picked up a washcloth, turning her toward the water. Christine had plastic dinosaurs to play with, and gave me one to hold. She made the others fly or swim at her feet, splashing her mother.

Brennan wiped drops of water from her cheek. "She's okay, Ange." Her voice didn't even tremble, but I gave her a hug, suds, toy dinosaurs and all. "She's going to be okay."

-.-.

Booth called me a cab and walked me to the door.

"Thank you," he said, "for staying."

I shrugged a little. "You're my friends."

"I mean it. Bones… She's…" He couldn't finish the thought. "Times like this, I don't deserve her."

"Hey." I waited until he looked at me. "Yes, you do."

"Well. I'm grateful you're here." Then his mouth twitched, showing a trace of the old Booth, before Pelant crashed into his life. "Anything you want—chocolate, jewelry, a new car—it's yours."

I smiled and touched his cheek. "I don't want anything, except for all of you to be happy." The cab pulled up, but I hesitated. "There is one thing. Let me plan that birthday party for Christine."

-.-.

"So, did he agree to it?" Hodgins asked from the other end of the couch.

I made a face at his tone. "I'm not planning a giant extravaganza. Just something simple and sweet. Like Christine."

"If you say so." He yawned. "Come on, babe. It's been a really long day. Finish your wine and let's go to bed."

Upstairs, I brushed my teeth, then got in the shower. It seemed like such luxury.

The past few days had been horrendous. In comparison, a normal night was bliss. The hot steamy water gliding over my skin. My son sleeping safely down the hall. I could dry off and put on pajamas, then go sleep next to my man. I didn't have to get up at the crack of dawn to fight cyber wars. No criminals lurked in the night, trying to ruin us and our friends.

Jack was reading a science journal when I slid into bed. The pillow's softness welcomed my head. I looked up: Hodgins' hair glowed in the lamplight, a curly gold halo.

He put the journal away and turned off the lamp. As he settled next to me, he said, "Angie?"

I knew that tone. Tentative but amused, like he knew a joke he wasn't sure was appropriate. His hand found my shoulder in the dark. "You want to see how I can play guitar with my penis?"


	10. Statements

**AN: **Beta read by jsq.

**Part 10: Statements**

The next morning I got called to the Bureau to clarify my statement.

I saw Sweets talking to an agent in one corner, but I had no time to say hi before they ushered me into an interrogation room. Then I was left alone. Luckily I only had two minutes to stare at the black walls and one-way mirror before someone came in.

It was Shaw, the girl Booth had been mentoring. She looked very professional: dark jacket, short hair. No-nonsense attitude.

_Why do they want me here? _I wondered._ Do our stories not match up? Do they think Brennan shot Pelant in cold blood?_

Shaw sat down across from me and shuffled papers in a file. "Ms. Montenegro, we have a few follow-up questions for you."

Uh oh. Wasn't that the way they lulled suspects, telling them it was just routine? I _had_ fudged my statement. I'd left things out, like the exact reasons I'd returned to the room, first to kill the cameras and then to eavesdrop on Pelant's final words.

_Okay,_ I told myself. _I can do this. Didn't I talk back to the judge at Max's murder trial? And I got tossed in a holding cell for refusing to testify. Protecting Brennan right now should be a piece of cake._

Shaw placed the papers in a neat pile in front of her, and asked me to confirm what I'd said yesterday. We went over the general timeline: how I'd left with Christine, come back to check for sabotage, then left again.

I made it clear that disabling the camera was my decision. "Because I know what kind of havoc Pelant can create with a digital video stream."

Shaw simply nodded. Then she asked, "Leaving the apartment a second time, was that also your decision?"

"Um…" Before I could think of a good lie, she went on.

"Maybe Dr. Brennan asked you to leave, to go for help."

"Yeah, that's it exactly. I mean, Brennan didn't have handcuffs or anything."

Shaw nodded again. Had she just _given_ me that answer?

As we finished looking at my statement, I added the bare minimum of details. Despite her all-business demeanor, Shaw didn't press me the way I knew she could. The way anyone at the Bureau, especially someone trained by Booth, would investigate every detail.

Shaw noted what I said in her file. She wrote to fill in the gaps, but it seemed she put down rather more than I had said.

She looked up and caught me watching.

For a second, the practiced-federal-agent mask dropped, and I saw her face unguarded, sympathetic. Her expression told me it was okay. No one was out to trick me, or punish Brennan. I swear I even saw humor: _We're in this together. Have to keep up appearances. _

Then her face smoothed back to impassiveness. "Thank you, Ms. Montenegro. If you could just sign here to verify your statement."

I took the pen from her and did it.

When I was free to go, I went looking for Sweets. I found him in the break room at the end of the hall, holding an empty cup and staring at the coffee machines.

"Can't decide between regular and decaf?"

He turned around. "Huh? Oh, yeah. It's just that I've had so much caffeine over the last few days…"

"Haven't we all. Listen." I grabbed his arm. "Is Agent Shaw secretly on our side, or what?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, you know what I'm talking about. Didn't you watch my interview? Didn't someone?"

He shook his head. "I don't know—"

"This," I hissed at him, "is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. They should be crawling up our asses with microscopes. They didn't even believe Pelant was guilty until this week! The last time around, Agent Flynn thought Booth was making it up, and Brennan really had killed her friend Sawyer."

Sweets looked harder at me. Then he held his cup under the decaf machine and pressed the spigot. "You were scared going in there today, weren't you?"

I folded my arms across my chest. "I was not."

"I think you were." Sweets picked up a sugar packet. "You thought they still wouldn't believe Booth and Brennan?"

"Based on past patterns?" I snorted. "It's not like these guys have been supportive."

Sweets pointed his coffee stirrer at me. "But you're forgetting something: Pelant tipped his hand. When he planted those emails in Pesovic's account, they led us to the wrong location, yeah. But he quit trying to hide. He wanted us to know he was behind it. He wanted the credit."

"Because he felt like this unrecognized genius? Because he wanted to cause some big confrontation with Brennan?"

Sweets shrugged. "If that's what he wanted, he got it."

I dropped down on the old couch next to the coffee bar. "Oh, he got it, all right. Got what he deserved."

Sweets sat next to me. He blew on his coffee, then said, "Did you know Agent Shaw has a son? He's a little older than Michael."

"I think Booth did mention… but he told me not to say anything. She wants to stay under the radar, I guess."

He nodded. "A lot of agents have kids. And when they heard about Christine… they were really mad. Really torn up. They knew it could've been their own kid who was abducted. You probably didn't see, because you've been at the lab this whole time. But I was here, I saw how everyone reacted."

"They were on our side all along?"

"Angela, there shouldn't be _sides_. This is the FBI. We find out the truth."

"Okay, Agent Boy. You want me to start calling you Mulder?"

He ignored that. "What I'm saying is, Pelant was the clear suspect. And what he did was inexcusable. Especially when he came after one of their own. Causing Booth's car accident, going after his child… those are unpardonable actions. And even if Dr. Brennan's not a cop, in this crisis, they'll consider her one of their own." Sweets sipped his coffee. "Shaw and her colleagues are smart. They know if we're not telling a hundred percent of the story. But as long as they don't find any serious holes or contradictions…"

I thought of that street corner outside the apartment, when Brennan gave her statement. I couldn't hear much of what was said. But for an instant, her eyes had darted to me. Did she know I'd waited outside the door? Was she glad I'd stopped her? The FBI had accepted her actions as self-defense. Smashing Pelant's face with her boot… that would've been a little harder to explain.

Then I recalled Shaw's eyes, in that moment she wasn't being a cop. Was she thinking of her own child in Christine's place? "You know…" I looked at Sweets. "I bet they wanted Pelant dead too."

He sat in silence, while a pair of stern-looking agents walked by. "Just try getting any of them to admit it."

-.-.-

Cam had given us all time off this week, and I was glad of it.

I went to a yoga class after the Bureau. Unrolling my mat, I said hi to a couple people I knew. Then I tried to let my mind drift as the instructor took us through the poses. Stretch, hold, gently twist. I could feel the stresses and kinks from the past week starting to unfurl and dissolve into the air.

I returned home to Hodgins with, if not a blissed-out smile, a more content expression.

We ate lunch with Michael, and a bit later, put him down for a nap. Standing in his room, we watched him sleep. Hodgins glanced up and spoke softly. "Still no word?"

"Not yet." He was asking about Booth and Brennan. The plan had been, Cam would accompany them to the pediatrician this morning. Then Sweets would meet them at the psychologist's office. With Christine so young, it would be hard to find out just what had happened. But they could observe her and make recommendations.

Hodgins and I wandered back to the kitchen. We were at a loss for what to do. Talking about grocery shopping or seeing a movie seemed wrong. It was too normal.

I leaned against the window overlooking the yard, and sighed. "I am so glad Brennan has her family back. And I'm so tired from this whole ordeal, I could sleep for five days straight."

"I hear you," Hodgins said.

But I was wired, too. One yoga class didn't cut it; I needed some closure to all this. Some catharsis. I needed to hurl a bunch of black and red paint onto a canvas. I needed to run up the side of a big hill and yell at the top of my lungs. I needed to have marathon sex with Hodgins.

Instead, I called Cam.

At first she praised the part I'd played in catching Pelant, but I waved it off. "What did the doctor say?"

"Christine is fine. Physically, she's just fine. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"And aside from physically? Did you hear…?"

"You'll have to ask Booth and Brennan about that. I would have, but I was needed back at the lab. We've been neglecting our jobs recently, for obvious reasons. But once I get through this meeting today…"

"You'll have some time off yourself, won't you? You've worked just as hard as any of us."

"Yeah, well… Sorry I missed the action. But you could have picked me up on the way, you know, not just called. I would've liked to shoot Pelant myself."

"You'd have to get in line for that." We laughed darkly, and it felt good.

Then Cam said, "About that remote device Pelant had…"

"Yeah?"

"The techs finished analyzing it. It was rigged to set off a bomb. Maybe a small one, but—"

"What bomb? Where?"

"The alarm clock in Booth and Brennan's bedroom."

"Oh, my God. But Booth told me—he saw Pelant on their security tape last year, and he searched the whole house afterward. Hodgins helped him. They replaced anything Pelant could have tampered with, like—"

"Like alarm clocks and baby monitors. I know. Those items have been sitting in an FBI evidence locker for the last year. When Booth couldn't convince anyone to examine them for sabotage, they were just filed away."

"But that clock…"

"It had a small explosive inside it this whole time. If Pelant had set it off," Cam said, "he wouldn't have hurt Booth or Brennan, like he might have wanted, but he could have caused the FBI some real damage and embarrassment. And it could have badly burned anyone standing within a few feet of it."

"Oh, my God." It was all I could think to say. "So he wasn't bluffing. He was going to set off a mini bomb in their bedroom! Even if he didn't know Booth had moved it…" I shook my head. "Pelant is just… sick."

"Pelant _was_," Cam corrected, and I liked the vicious tone of her voice.

"Yes," I said. "Was. Well, Sweets is going to love this. I saw him this morning but he must not have heard."

"What's he going to love?"

"_This_. Pelant's final plan? His obsession with power and schemes? It's like he's a terrorist, the way he instills fear. I mean, here we are just going about our lives, and he could have crashed a car or exploded an alarm clock any time that he wanted."

"But he didn't. Not all of it. He underestimated us." Cam and I spent a few minutes verbally abusing him, to reassure ourselves, before my brain diverted to another topic.

"Hey, isn't Michelle home from school soon, for summer break?"

"Not for another month. But she's promised to come home for a weekend before that."

"That's good. Maybe she could come to Christine's birthday party. Don't worry, I won't make it anything crazy. I think we all just want to hunker down with family and appreciate what we have."

-.-.-

Later, I called Brennan. "Hi, Sweetie. Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's fine. I just got back from a run, while Christine and Booth were napping."

"So, how are you all doing?"

"Well… Booth was put on leave for four weeks. That's the time he would need anyway, to recover. But he says it's a slap on the wrist for not following protocol."

"You mean for going rogue, pursuing Pelant on our own?"

"That's one way to put it, yes."

I was curled up in a corner of my art studio, watching the light fade between neighboring houses. "And Christine? How is she doing?"

"She's, um…" I wished I was there, so I could see Brennan's face. "Just a minute." I heard her say something to Booth, then it sounded like she'd moved into another room. "Sweets and the other doctor, they thought the effects would last for some time, but…"

"Effects, honey?"

"Christine is… She startles easily, cries more often, and gets very upset if one of us leaves. But children are resilient, and with time…"

"She'll be fine, right?"

"Yes." Brennan sounded determined. "She will."

I asked about Booth, next. "He needs to get more rest," she said, "but he feels better after the professional opinions we got today. And after questioning the kidnappers."

"Wait, what? The FBI let him do that?"

"I got the impression it was unofficial, off the record. I didn't see it; I was with Christine. But one of his colleagues said…" She sounded proud. "He interrogated them within an inch of their lives."

"I can believe that. Scaring them is the next best thing, since he can't beat them to a pulp."

"Not until he heals more, and gets his doctor's permission to resume boxing workouts."

"Brennan… Did you just make a joke?"

"No, I'm being serious. But it's unlikely he could hurt them without repercussions."

She did sound serious. And kind of bitter, which worried me.

We talked some more, and I found out Max and Russ were coming there for dinner. "They're bringing groceries and cooking, so we don't have to do anything."

"That'll be nice, honey." As we said goodbye I told her, "You enjoy your family time, Brennan. And call me soon, okay?"


	11. Breakdown

**AN: **Thank you to threesquares and jsq for the beta reads.

**Part 11: Breakdown**

The next day, Hodgins and I did some much-needed relaxing. We played outside with Michael, read and acted out stories, then lolled around listening to music. We cooked a big dinner together before tucking our kid into bed.

Now it was about nine p.m. Hodgins watched sports, while I worked on a sketch that I'd started before the whole mess with Pelant.

My cell phone rang from across the room. I didn't want to get up; the armchair was so cozy. But once I'd put down my sketchpad and trudged over, I was glad to see Brennan's name on my screen.

"Hi, Sweetie."

"Angela?" It sounded like she was in tears.

"Oh my God. What's wrong?"

"N-nothing. I just…"

"Is everyone okay?"

"Booth and Christine are asleep. I tried to sleep but I…" She took a shaky breath and almost laughed. "I can't stop crying. It doesn't make sense. The danger's over, we're safe, but it feels like… something's wrong with me and I don't know what to—"

"Honey, slow down. Just breathe for a second. I'm coming over, okay?" She didn't even object, which told me I'd made the right choice. "This time of night, I can be there in ten minutes." I glanced down at my clothes: paint-splattered jeans and an old t-shirt. But I knew Brennan wouldn't care.

As I hung up Hodgins asked, "What's going on?"

I gave him a quick kiss and went to get my keys. "Brennan's freaking out. And if you ask me, she was overdue for something like this. So you better not wait up."

.-.-.

She answered the door wearing a blue robe, with damp hair curling on her shoulders. Her eyes were all red, and I hugged her before I'd even taken off my jacket.

After a good long squeeze, I drew back. I touched a strand of her hair that stuck out at an angle. "You smell nice, by the way."

She tried to smile.

I pulled off my jacket and shoes, and we went into the living room. Brennan sat on the couch across from shelves that held Booth's CDs, along with her books and artifacts.

I folded one foot under me so I could face her. "They're upstairs asleep?"

She nodded. "Christine fell asleep in the middle of our bed. It's hard to get her to sleep in her own room. Sweets thinks we need to establish that again soon, but I just couldn't…" She trailed off, sniffing. "Then when I got out of the shower, Booth had fallen asleep next to her, and the way he was curled protectively around…" Her voice trembled too much for her to go on.

I scooted closer to put my arm around her. Her shoulders shook with sobs and she ducked her head, gasping for air. I held her until she could breathe better. Then she glanced at me, started to say something, and burst into tears again.

"Oh no, Sweetie." I gave this sympathetic half-laugh, handing her a box of tissues from the end table. "You really are having a nervous breakdown." She shot me a look of alarm. "No, sorry. That was supposed to be funny."

I waited while she blew her nose. "Ange, do you remember, after I'd been on the run…" Her voice was thick with tears. "Once I'd been home for a while, and Booth and I were…"

"Fighting?"

She scrunched her nose as if to say, _That's not the word I would've picked, but okay. _"And when you asked me how things were going, I couldn't answer?"

"I remember."

"You said, if I ever woke up screaming in the middle of the night, that I could call you." Tears trickled down her cheeks. "Now I know what you mean."

I hugged her again. "That's why I'm here." When I moved back, I pretended to analyze her. "Here I thought _I_ was the one who couldn't unwind, who needed some big dramatic emotion-fest to help recover from all this."

Brennan stared miserably at me. "I don't know what _that _means."

I convinced her to come to the kitchen and make some calming tea. Then we settled ourselves back on the sofa.

Brennan drew her knees to her chest and wrapped both hands around the mug. Her face was blotchy from crying, and I could see all these thoughts clouding her eyes. She just couldn't seem to make sense of them.

"Just tell me one thing, okay? To start with."

She pondered it. "We've had Christine back for two days. But tonight… I had to _see _and _feel _that she and Booth were with me, that they were safe. I wanted to lie down with them and sleep, but I couldn't. I had to be alert. And I was crying too much. Booth needs his rest; I didn't want to wake him…"

"You know he would've been understanding, though. I say you deserve a good cry. You could've had his big strong arms around you while you did it."

"I could have. But he always wants to know _why_. And I can't…" She wiped her eyes.

"Sweetie, I think you've been too busy. I have, too. Once I had free time, I felt like… I needed to keep _doing _something. I couldn't just sit and relax."

"Yes," she said, "there was nothing to _do_. No FBI agents to call, no tests to run, not even any medication to give Booth, not for several hours, anyway. And I just felt like everything hit me at once. Like all my vital structures were cracking."

I wanted to hug her again. "That is pretty scary, I know. When you have to just sit in a room and _feel _everything."

Brennan took a shuddering breath and released it. I sipped my tea: chamomile, with a cool hint of spearmint.

She cried more, and so did I, and we talked about our fears.

Like how she didn't want to let Christine out of her sight ever again.

We'd gotten too restless to sit, so now we paced slowly across the room. I looped my arm through hers. "Children need the right amount of challenge," Brennan pointed out. "Their brains need exposure to different intellectual and emotional stimuli, just as their immune systems need exposure to different environments. I don't want to be one of those overprotective mothers you see on the playground—"

"The ones who won't let their kid play in the dirt, or splash in puddles when it rains, or climb too high on the jungle gym?"

"Exactly. And yet, after what happened… I am never going to forget how that felt, when Christine was completely out of our protection."

We walked past the dining room and I patted her arm. "Baby steps, Brennan. Just start by getting Christine to sleep in her own bed. Then have Max come and watch her, while you and Booth are out. Later she could spend a night at my place. I've been meaning to suggest… Let us babysit, because I still don't think, once you got home, that you took advantage of _opportunities_. Locking yourself in the bedroom with Booth to make up for lost time…"

My attempt to lighten things up failed. It was the reminder of their bedroom—the bomb-rigged alarm clock—that did it.

We came to a stop by the window at the side of the house. Brennan touched the string that controlled the blinds, but I didn't know whether she wanted to open them or draw them more tightly closed.

My mind was spinning out useless what-ifs, and all of them scared me. What if Booth hadn't gotten rid of that clock. What if Pelant had come after my family instead. What if he hadn't kept Christine at all, but made her disappear into some black market horror…

I didn't want to mention this, though, so I thought about Hodgins. It had been awfully hard for him and Booth to stay behind, while the rest of us rescued Christine.

I told Brennan about that now. "Hodgins said he was babbling the whole time. Telling Booth the most creative ways he could think of to torture Pelant. He said, 'Booth seemed fine with waiting silently. I guess if you're a trained sniper, you can do that. But I had to talk.' It's a wonder Booth didn't smack him to make him shut up." When Bren didn't respond, I tried to joke. "Male egos, huh? They think they have to conform to some tough-guy stereotype, always protecting their females."

She nodded, but offered no anthropological insights. Now I had to ask her. "Brennan, you didn't think Pelant planted a bomb in that apartment, did you? Is that why you asked me to leave?"

She shook her head. She was staring out through the gaps in the blinds, and I could feel a draft of cold air coming through the glass.

"No. I don't know what I suspected. Parts of that day are so clear, because my one objective was to find Christine. The other parts… are a blur."

Well, that was something. I didn't want her to remember the stark clarity of every detail.

"Come on," I said. "I'm tired of walking." We retired to the couch, sitting at either end with our legs stretched out to share the center.

Brennan started to cry again, talking about Booth's injuries.

"If you'd see his x-rays, Angela… So much bone remodeling, so many scars. He's strong and healthy, but I can't stand to see…" I leaned forward to pat her foot, and just let her cry a while. "He would've been killed in the crash," she said, "if not for that uphill in the road and his own quick thinking."

"His stupid heroism, you mean, running into a tree?" I felt my eyes tearing up. "Honey, it could have been you. You'd been driving that car, with Christine in the back, for a few days after Pelant's mechanic sabotaged it."

Luckily, she didn't let me drag her into a maudlin moment. She made this fed-up groan. "I'm so sick of all this. Worrying about it, going over and over the events in my head. Pelant is dead; this should all be over."

"Sweetie… I can appreciate that, but don't be in denial, okay? Isn't that what you did after being on the run? I said that being a fugitive and a single mom could change a person. You just said, 'I'm home now and I've changed back.' But I don't think—"

Her gaze snapped sparks of anger at me. "Don't tell me what I should or should not be feeling. You didn't go through this, you don't know—" She broke off. Her eyes squeezed shut and she looked away. "I'm sorry. You _did _go through this with us."

"Hey, go ahead and be angry. Of course, you already killed the bad guy, so I'd say you vented some of it already. But we all need outlets for this stuff." I watched her for a minute. "Brennan. You said Booth has to get his doctor's permission for boxing workouts. What about you? You could go beat up a punching bag first thing tomorrow."

She considered that. "I have been neglecting my martial arts practice lately. That might be a good idea."

Then she admitted that I had a point, about her post-fugitive mindset. "I feel like I've only just recovered from that time. The uncertainty, always looking over my shoulder, with no one but Christine and my dad…" She glanced around her cozy living room. "I only just got used to being in a family again. And then Pelant…"

"He threatened to take it all away."

"And I don't know what to do with—" She held one fist against her chest as if it hurt. "With _this_."

"Just do what you're doing, honey. Cry. Hug me. Watch Booth and Christine sleep. Be grateful to God or fate or the universe that you're together. Have birthday parties and eat cake. Take time off, go on vacation, maybe quit crime solving altogether…"

A half-smile played around her mouth. "That's a lot of ideas."

"Yeah. I'm full of them, aren't I?"

We sat quietly for a while. Brennan wriggled back against the couch pillows and yawned. "It's late. I should let you get home."

"Don't worry about me. I'm used to all-nighters, remember? But… why don't you go upstairs right now and do what we said? Watch that adorable family sleeping. I'll just stay here and drink more tea."

Brennan wasn't sure I was serious, but she took my suggestion. She must have been stealthy, too, because I dozed off and barely heard her come back.

"I was afraid I'd wake them," she whispered. "But they looked completely peaceful." Now she dropped down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Something in her body language seemed more relaxed. "I had just gotten used to this again. Relying on Booth, not striving to do everything myself, the way it was when I first got back."

"I remember. Something about stealing his pancake-making splendor at the breakfast table?" It was my turn to yawn and stretch. "I can understand that. Not so long ago, I was this flighty artist, moving from job to job and from boyfriend to girlfriend. But now I have all these constants in my life, and all these responsibilities. Maybe I miss being able to do whatever the heck I wanted, but most of it, I wouldn't trade for anything. And as for relying on Hodgins…"

Brennan watched me with a sleepy kind of interest.

"I haven't told anyone, but he does all of our taxes. He has an accountant for dealing with the family estate. But he does all our basic stuff. He likes it. I, on the other hand… I can decrypt complicated computer code, but the tax code makes me want to scream. I _could _figure it out, if I had to, but I forget how it works every single year.

"And that's okay if I let Hodgins do it. I mean, sometimes I'm convinced that rampant feminists will come knocking on my door and confiscate my membership card. But I just remember, Hodgins can't fold laundry to save his life. So the moral of the story is, give and take, Brennan."

She glanced down with a little smile. "Booth hates to organize his underwear drawer. Even though he sees the consequences, that he can't find anything when he just throws things in haphazardly…"

"So you do it for him?" She nodded, and I was sure my eyes were twinkling at her. "Don't worry, I promise never to tell anyone."

A short time later I texted Hodgins that I'd be on my way home. Brennan walked me to the front door. The tea had left a honey-like taste in my mouth and a peaceful languor in my limbs.

"Let's have lunch sometime soon," I suggested. "And don't be afraid to call me when you need to, day or night."

Brennan hugged me again, her now-dry hair warm under my cheek.

"I almost forgot." She lifted her head. "There's more bad news."

"Oh no. What?"

"I have to buy a new car."


	12. Birthday

**AN: **Thank you to threesquares and jsq for beta work. You gals are wonderful.

This is the end! I hope you've enjoyed, and thank you for reading.

**Part 12: Birthday**

Christine's birthday came and went, while we all recovered. The party itself would take place some two weeks later.

In the meantime, I learned more about the loose ends of the case.

"We've checked all the video footage from the apartment," Agent Shaw reported. She'd come to my office to get copies of my files, but she answered my questions, too.

"How much did Pelant actually record?"

"Not that much." I'd invited Shaw to sit on my couch, though she looked a bit out of place against the colorful cushions. "He just taped a few segments here and there, to set up the digital video system. Your first thought was right: he probably planned to manipulate the footage, but hadn't made enough progress."

"So… we don't see much of the kidnappers on film?"

"No, although it looks like Pesovic was alone with Christine for most of the time. Wolf didn't stick around, and Pelant must only have come by later. The tapes do support the statements they gave when we interviewed them."

"Or when Booth _interrogated _them?"

"That too."

"Wait, did you see it?" She nodded. "Do I want to know…?"

"Maybe not. But I will say, as the mother of a small child, I felt vindicated by their responses."

"You mean their fear?"

She lifted one shoulder as if admitting, _You said it, not me_. When I pressed her for more detail about the kidnappers, she said, "They both swore up and down they never hurt Christine. Pesovic did confess to hushing her, or reprimanding her when she cried. She claimed the child was calm enough the first day, probably because she was used to babysitters, but she got upset that night when she realized she wasn't going home."

"I'll bet," I said. "Poor thing."

I wondered if Bren and Booth had insisted on seeing the footage. I would've begged them not to, but thank God there was nothing too bad on it.

Shaw took a flash drive of my files when she left. She reassured me that it was just to document the clues that led us to Pelant's location, while she wrapped up a report for her boss. I knew the Bureau liked that sort of thing. Neat avenues of investigation. Clear conclusions.

Watching her walk off across the lab, wearing that impeccable black blazer, I realized I hadn't asked about Pelant's death. Did he have any family to notify? What would be done with his remains?

Brennan might have asked these questions. Booth could have found the answers days ago. But me, I didn't care to know.

-.-.-.

The following Friday Brennan took me to the FBI gym. We did a workout on the treadmill, then stretched and exercised our abs. Or rather, our core, which was the trendy term now.

"It's somewhat more accurate," Brennan observed, "and research shows that you should work not just the rectus abdominis, but all the muscles, including intrinsic stabilizers like the internal oblique."

"You must be feeling better," I said, "if you're back to correcting people about the precise nature of all their anatomical parts."

She gave me this cute little head tilt. "You're teasing me."

"Yes, honey. Only because I love you."

We showered and changed, then headed to the diner for lunch. Since we'd missed the busiest time, we could claim our table by the window right away. I dropped my gym bag stuffed with sweaty clothes on the adjacent chair.

"So, should I go with the old stand-by of salad, or should I venture into something new?" I gazed at the menu while Brennan settled herself across from me. She wore a simple brown skirt and pink t-shirt. No jewelry, no make-up. I wished I was that brave. But I always caved in: at least some mascara, especially with the bold geometric print I was wearing.

Once we'd ordered, I got to the point. "Are you gonna tell me, Sweetie? You alluded to some conflict with Booth, but it didn't seem right to yell to each other over the sound of the treadmill." I watched her take a sip of water. "What's going on? Are you two okay?"

"We had an argument." She looked out the window before continuing. "Things are fine now, but I don't think they're… resolved."

While we ate, she told me the story.

"We finally got Christine to sleep in her own bed. I sat with her until she fell asleep, but then she woke up about an hour later. Booth went to check her. She was crying and didn't want him to leave. She wanted to cuddle or listen to him read stories. He ended up staying another hour before she fell back asleep. Afterward, I…"

She paused, so I took another bite of salad. (I _had _ordered the same old thing, but included a side of French fries. They were probably drenched in grease and salt. Yum.)

"I suggested that Booth didn't have to stay with her that long," Brennan said. "That we should get her used to being alone at night, because I want her to grow up strong and confident, not…" Her mouth twisted and I thought for a second she was going to cry. "I suppose I phrased it more strongly than that, and Booth was hurt. He felt I'd questioned his parenting skills, and I was being too hard on Christine. He said, 'What did you want me to do, leave her there crying?' And I raised my voice, too; I said I didn't want her being afraid of shadows because he was coddling her. But he's right, and I should have told him that: there's no way I could have left her in there alone. Then I…"

"What, honey?

"I cried. I didn't mean to, but…"

Knowing Booth, that had ended the argument. Bren was clearly still wounded by all this; and even if she told herself, rationally, she could be a bit more firm with her daughter, it was another thing to actually _do _it.

"We apologized, but we're still not…"

"Hey. You went through such an awful thing, Brennan. It's understandable if you snap at each other from time to time."

She accepted that, but didn't look ready to discuss it any more. So I turned the conversation to innocuous topics.

We talked about the birthday party guest list for a while. Booth's grandfather would be there, for one. "We only called him this week," Brennan admitted. "He read Booth a fierce lecture for not telling him about Pelant until it was all over. He used the same word I did, actually. He said, 'Don't you coddle me, Shrimp. I may be old, but I can handle myself.'"

"Well, it sounds like he'll make this party a lot more interesting. You gotta love him, don't you?"

"Yes," Brennan said. "I do."

Now I pushed my plate of French fries at her. "Haven't you had any of these yet? I told myself I needed to replace the sodium I lost while sweating at the gym, but that's probably a delusion."

-.-.-.

We rented a picnic shelter at a park in my neighborhood.

I'd wanted to keep the party small, but I couldn't bring myself to exclude anyone. So the guest list included my family and Brennan's, both our dads, Parker and Pops. Russ and his family, Caroline, Sweets, Cam and Michelle. I also invited Agent Shaw and her son, along with the babysitter Teresa, to show her there were no hard feelings.

Brennan didn't want anyone bringing extravagant gifts. And Christine didn't need much; we were all just glad she was okay. But I knew people would bring presents, so I made one rule about it: no technology. Nothing remotely connected with email or computers or codes. Not even toys that ran on batteries. Just simple, timeless stuff.

My dad, for instance, brought Christine a set of bongo drums. I watched her bang on them in the shade of the picnic shelter. Brennan stood next to me folding the wrapping paper.

"Between that and Michael's guitar," I said, "they could start a band."

My dad watched Christine with a critical eye. _Tap tap tap_, went her little palms. _Tap tap_—she gave it good smack—_bong_. Dad nodded approval. "The kid's got rhythm."

Hodgins and I gave our present next. Booth, sitting at a picnic table, leaned down to help Christine open the big, soft package.

Once she'd peeled away the paper, her mouth opened in surprise and delight. We'd gotten her a stuffed dog, a German shepherd as tall as she was. She hugged him to her chest, her eyes shining.

"Is that a police dog?" Booth asked. "Like in your book, huh?" I knew she had a collection of animal books, and the picture of a police dog was one of her favorites.

"Yeah," I said, "we got a guard dog to keep her safe, maybe help her sleep at night." Brennan turned from watching her daughter to smile at me. It was a sad smile, but I could tell she appreciated the gesture.

"Hey, Angela." Booth glanced up. "Why is there a rhinestone in its ear?"

"Oh, that. I just thought he needed a little something. You know, a little pizzazz."

Booth mouthed at Hodgins, _Pizzazz?_

He shrugged as if to say, _Man,_ _I don't get it either._ Then he caught my eye. "We, um, we had this other idea. It was just a passing comment, a joke really..." Booth raised his eyebrows.

"You know those microchips you can get for lost dogs or cats?" I said. "It's pretty controversial for children, but…"

Brennan stared at me. "Are you serious?"

"No… not unless you thought it was a good idea."

"I don't think so." Booth's voice was definitive.

"Well, theoretically," she started to argue, "if it's safe for cats or dogs it should be safe for humans."

"Really, Bones?" He touched his daughter's head. It looked like she was making the dog a hat out of wrapping paper scraps.

Brennan shared a look with him that I couldn't interpret. "I know we don't need more technology to protect her, Booth. I'm confident in your ability to do that."

He held her eyes in a way that made me catch my breath. "_Our_ ability."

-.-.-

The adults played soccer and grilled food, while the kids ran around the playground.

I saw Caroline sitting with Booth's grandfather under the picnic shelter. They were drinking punch out of plastic cups and telling each other wild stories: Caroline's dealings with criminals and Hank's adventures being an M.P.

Teresa and Michelle talked about classes they were taking or guys they'd dated.

Max and my dad were also swapping stories, while they tended the grill. And by the grin on my dad's face, the tales weren't ones they'd want their daughters to hear.

Cam, Booth and Hodgins stood at the edge of the playground, keeping an eye on the little ones.

Everyone else was playing soccer on the tree-lined field. Brennan, Sweets, Parker, Russ, Amy and Agent Shaw—who'd told us to call her Genny, because "only my mom calls me Genevieve." Amy's girls ran up and down the sidelines, cheering for the players.

I circulated, talking and observing.

The sun shone warm on my face, and the scent of blossoms wafted on the balmy air. We couldn't have asked for better weather.

I saw Sweets kick a pass to Parker, who ran with it down the field. Where, I thought suddenly, had he been for all this? Thank God Pelant hadn't come after Parker, too.

Michael interrupted my thoughts, yelling out of sheer high spirits. He, Christine, and Shaw's son Davey were playing some kind of relay game, where they took turns racing from one end of a sand-filled ring to the other.

I went closer to watch. Booth sat at the nearest picnic table, squinting in the sun. He still had to wear a brace on his leg, but was allowed to put some weight on it now. I stood next to him and we both smiled at the kids' boisterous play.

Then Christine tripped and fell in the sand. Landing on her hands and knees, she tumbled to one side and ended up on her butt. Booth was on his feet in a second. He was about to run over there, but I held him back.

She pouted, looking at her sand-dusted hands. I saw her think about crying.

Booth spared me one impatient glance, trying to see if she was hurt. "Just wait," I told him. Because if her dad rushed over there acting all concerned, of course she was going to cry. Yes, she was playing with older, bigger boys, and the sand might sting a little, but…

Davey ran by with my son in pursuit. Michael tapped Christine on the shoulder crying, "You're it!" Both boys raced off again. She watched them, then scrambled up to chase after.

Booth let out a big breath. He looked at me and nodded, as if to say,_ Okay. You were right._

I sat with him for a while. We lounged in the sun, talking. When the kids tired of their game, Cam and Hodgins brushed the sand off them, then sat them down with some snacks. Minutes later the soccer game broke up, so the players crowded under the picnic shelter looking for food.

I saw Brennan grab some bottled water from a cooler. Her skin was flushed a healthy pink from running around the field, and when she took a drink, her head fell back to expose the graceful line of her throat. I glanced at Booth to find him watching her, too. He smiled like a teenager, that I'd caught him. But then he stared down at the grass for a long time before speaking.

"Bones told me how you stayed with her, in that apartment."

"Oh. Did she also tell you I was hiding behind the door the whole time?"

He didn't react, just continued. "It was killing me not to be there. So I'm glad you were."

"Did, um… Did she mention how she almost smashed Pelant's face after he was dead? I mean, I _think_ that's what she was going to do."

"She mentioned it. Just how… she felt this incredible anger. Because of everything he'd put us through."

"I know." I swallowed. "And if I hadn't walked in and stopped her, do you think she would have done it?"

We watched Bren lift Christine onto her lap and offer her slices of fruit.

Booth's voice hardened. "Yeah. I think she would have."

-.-.-

Christine toddled over to her dad after lunch. I realized I hadn't eaten, so I got myself a plate. Once I loaded it with grilled chicken, fruit and salad, I looked for a place to sit. Hodgins waved me over to his table, which seemed to be all guys. Or I could go sit with more of the girls.

I noticed Booth and Brennan at the edge of the shaded area. Christine was leading Booth back to the playground where Amy's daughters were hanging out. He paused with Brennan, just where the light angled into the picnic shelter, painting a sunny aura behind them.

I'd missed whatever they'd just said. But I saw him touch her bare arm and murmur in her ear. By the way her mouth turned up and the way his hand caressed her skin, it must have been something saucy. It was all I could do not to run over and demand that he repeat it.

I restrained myself long enough to chat with Hodgins at his table. But I hadn't had a chance to talk to Brennan yet. So when I saw her sitting cross-legged under one of the trees, I went over there.

Teresa had been talking to her, but excused herself when I came up.

Brennan watched her go. "She still feels guilty."

Sitting next to her, I stretched out my legs and put the plate of food on my lap. "You're sure you don't mind having her as a nanny, after what happened?"

"She's still a responsible person; that hasn't changed. Christine likes her. And the world is safer without Pelant in it. We'll still take precautions, of course. Teresa knows to double check with us if anything out of the ordinary happens."

"Well, that's good. So..." I changed the subject with no tact whatsoever. "What did Booth say to you just now?"

There was that smile again. "It's not important."

"Oh, on the contrary. It looked _very_ important."

She still wouldn't tell me. And maybe it was just to tease me, but I let her keep that secret. I asked instead, "Does that mean everything's patched up between you two?"

"I think so. We were still a bit tense after arguing last week. But the other night, Christine went right to sleep, so Booth and I had a few hours to ourselves. We talked for a long time, and made love, and now things are…much better."

"I can see that." I managed to stop grinning.

"We agreed that we want to provide Christine with the right balance of challenge and comfort. Our underlying motives are the same, though we might interpret situations differently. In the future, we'll try not to make generalizations, and will consider issues on a case-by-case basis."

"Hm." I frowned in what I hoped was a scholarly way. "That sounds wise. Well, as for meeting challenges, Christine is doing great today, isn't she?"

Brennan glanced at the jungle gym where our kids were playing together. "She is."

"But what about… Sweetie, did you and Booth apologize for what you said to each other on that street, you know, when Pelant led us to the wrong building?"

Her eyes slid sideways, and I could still hear the anger in their voices, the panic.

_It sounds like you're giving up on our daughter._

_I would never give up on her! It sounds like you're the one who can't face reality._

"No," Brennan said. "We didn't need to. At least…" Her eyes went out of focus, but this time, I swear, she was seeing something fantastic. "At least not in words."

I couldn't help it: I put my hand on her arm and giggled. She smiled in return. And even if it didn't match her usual brilliance, it was pure and genuine.

While I finished my lunch, we watched the playground activities. Booth and Hodgins were helping Christine and Michael scale a little climbing wall. We praised their abilities, gossiped about people at the lab, and talked about returning to full-time crime solving.

Christine came over to show her mother some pebbles she had found. "Oh," I said, "aren't they pretty!" Booth, who'd followed his daughter, leaned against the tree behind us.

Once we'd admired the stones, and Brennan wondered about their geological makeup, Christine decided it was time to rest. She climbed into her mom's lap and was asleep in minutes. (I realized I should have planned this better, to allow the kids their afternoon naps.)

Booth watched his daughter for a bit, then excused himself to join Parker, who was waving at him from the soccer field. I saw him ruffle the boy's hair. Rolling his eyes, Parker asked his dad to toss the ball so he could practice kicks and headshots.

Brennan held Christine in her lap, one arm curved securely around the girl's back, Christine's head resting on her chest. The breeze stirred their hair and dappled their clothes with shadows.

"Hey," I said impulsively. "How do you feel right now?"

This being Brennan, she didn't say whatever came to mind. She considered. "Safe. Grateful. Content."

"Not happy?" It was probably too soon for that: only three weeks after the abduction.

We heard the thunk of feet on a ball and Booth yelling, "Oh, nice shot!"

"Not happy," Brennan said. "Not after…" She tilted her head down toward Christine. The toddler's face was relaxed in sleep, her mouth like a little pink bow. Brennan's fingers played, very softly, with her daughter's hair. "We're safe. But it's not over. The worry."

"Well, I've got news for you, Sweetie. The worry will never be over. I'm finding this out with Michael. You don't stop worrying about them til the day you die."

She sighed in agreement.

"Slow down, there! Don't tackle her." I looked up in time to see Michael running toward me with Hodgins on his heels.

Michael tumbled into my arms, warm and wriggling. He asked to try Christine's new drum set, but we had to hush him so he didn't wake her. "Yes, I do want to hear you play," I told him. "Why don't you go practice with Daddy first, then give me a concert? Brennan and I are going to stay here a little longer."

They ran off again, and I turned to Brennan.

She didn't renew the conversation, so I didn't either. I was happy just to sit with my friend in the spring grass, watching our families enjoy themselves.

I could bet she was thinking about what I'd said, how the worry never stops. And, because of that bastard Pelant, her worst fears had come true.

She and Booth would be haunted by the kidnapping, I knew.

I hated that this had happened to them. Didn't they have painful enough memories in their own past?

Booth the cop, the protector, hadn't been able to protect his own child. And Brennan, who'd seen her parents and then her brother get in a car and drive out of her life… She'd almost lost Booth in a car crash, had seen Christine whisked away by criminals.

She worried that this trauma in her daughter's formative years would have lasting effects.

I worried, too. Because it seemed Christine was recovering better than her parents.

"Brennan?" She turned her clear blue eyes on me. "You know, it's not just a mother thing, this worry." I described how Hodgins had woken up one night, convinced Pelant was still alive and out to get us. _Angie, wake up,_ he'd said frantically, before he was truly awake himself. _Call Booth, call your dad—we need all their guns and we're running out of time. I have to get more particulates from the tires. You try to crack the latest string of code…_

"I pulled him from the dream by planting my hands and lips on his face. He got even more tense for a second, then he lunged for the lamp, like he expected to find Pelant hiding in the corner. Finally, he looked at me. He was still shaking from the nightmare. All he said was, _Oh, fuck. That was a bad one_."

Brennan nodded in perfect understanding.

I heard Christine take a sighing breath, and snuggle back against her mom's chest.

"Booth has dreams sometimes. But he says, it's not what his subconscious can come up with. It's when he's awake. The things that went through our minds while it was happening…" Brennan shook her head, eyes glinting. "He was afraid he was going to die 'in a stupid car crash' and leave us all alone. He was more worried for _me_ than himself. And I… there were times I thought we'd never see Christine again." She wrapped both arms around her sleeping girl. "I know Booth would never have stopped searching. And, if time went on and we didn't find anything, eventually that search would…"

"It would eat him up."

She held my eyes, her mouth tight. "Both of us."

"Oh, Sweetie." I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. "This is where I'm supposed to come up with some inspirational saying, but I… I've got nothing."

"That's all right." The corner of her mouth lifted, not enough for a smile. "I understand."

Because sometimes, I thought, there's nothing _to_ say.

I traced my hand through the grass and over the roughness of a tree root. When I looked up I could see Hodgins and Michael in the picnic shelter. They were bent over the drums, experimenting with different sounds.

"Hodgins talked to me about that," Brennan said. "The anger, not the dreams."

"What? He did?"

"This past Monday at the lab, I was working a half day while Booth stayed home with Christine. Hodgins… he asked about killing Pelant. He wanted to know what it looked like, what it felt like."

"Huh. That makes sense, actually."

"He told me about almost killing Pelant himself. When Hodgins went to leave a message in the cemetery, and Pelant found him…"

"I know." He'd closed his hands on Pelant's throat and choked him until he passed out. "He has pretty fervent memories about that. So…" I watched her. "What else did you two say?"

_She still has a bond with Hodgins,_ I thought. _Because of what the Gravedigger put them through. And even now: She killed Pelant. Hodgins came close to it. Even Booth, as much as he wanted to, didn't get that close._

"We…" Brennan chose her words carefully. "We came to a consensus about how we felt, in those moments when we had power over Pelant. Power to hurt him, to stop him."

I held my breath. "And?"

She glanced at her sleeping child as if unwilling to answer in her presence. "It doesn't matter now."

But I saw it in her eyes. And I could imagine, because I'd felt it myself, watching Pelant bleed onto the apartment floor.

I'd felt glad. Disgusted. Vengeful.

"Suffice it to say…" Bren's gaze found her dad, doting over Amy's girls at the playground. "My conscience is clear."

I had to take a few deep breaths. Now I heard Michael give the drums a good reverberating smack, while Hodgins encouraged him. "Maybe Hodgins should take up boxing, too. More anger management, just in case. Because all the rubber band wrist-snapping in the world can't make up for the Pelant-level of hatred we were talking about."

"Has he consulted with Sweets?" Brennan asked. "Despite my irritation with his profession, I've found him to be helpful and perceptive at times."

We looked over to see Sweets talking with Teresa at the edge of the picnic area. It seemed like they were having an intense conversation. But then she smiled and he laughed, and I was sure they were flirting. "Maybe they'll start dating," I said. "They are close to the same age. And compared to Daisy, this girl is absolutely unflappable."

If Brennan knew I'd purposefully changed the subject, I don't think she minded. We'd had enough fear and doom. This _was_ a party, after all.

We chatted about Sweets for a while, critiquing the advice he'd given in the past. "Oh, talking things out—that _reminds_ me," I said, my voice taking on a distinctive lilt. "You said that after you and Booth argued… once you had time alone, you talked a lot, and had make-up sex?"

"Yes…"

"Brennan. Don't you know me well enough by now? You can't just casually mention something like that and expect me to let it slide." I leaned toward her like a conspirator. "I'm your best friend. I need to know this stuff."

Christine was fast asleep; she wouldn't hear a thing. True, this was a semi-public place. But I wasn't afraid we'd be overheard. I was afraid we'd be interrupted before she gave me the goods.

I raised my brows and she smiled as if to say, _You're incorrigible_.

I wanted suddenly to paint her like this. Her blue eyes and the freckles smattering her nose. The way she held her child beneath this tree, while leaves cast lingering shadows on her face.

"Well," she began, "it _was_ memorable…"

I put my hand on her arm and gave it a happy squeeze. Schmaltzy portraits could wait.

"Details, Brennan. I need details."


End file.
